
Class pS 3 ^^9 

Book -AJLLL 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSnv 




JAMES B. ELMORE. 



Love Among the Mistletoe 



AND 



Poems 



JAMES B. ELMORE 



AUTHOR OF 



A Lover in Cuba, and Poems; " "Twenty-five Years in Jack- 
ville" (a romance in the days of the "Golden 
Circle "), and " Selected Poems; " and 
"Autumn Roses" 



ALAMO, IND. 
PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 

1908 



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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

MAR 10 1^09 

A Copyrijrnt Entry ^ 
CLASS CL. XXc. No, 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1899, by 

JAME? B. HLMORE, 

In the Office o-i the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



Oopyr ght, 1908. 



Prkkack. 



This book is dedicated to all lovers of good, 

And to those who admire pure reading. 
Be sure to peruse it as you should, 

Observing the lessons of good breeding. 
AYe give no apolog}' for making things plain, 

In a modest, graphical way. 
For nature has done her work just the same, 

And given our lessons to-day. 
^lother Xature has been to us a great school. 

Of Avhich ourselves are a part. 
There can be no offense, if we stick to the rule. 

And give the pen-pictures of heart. 
Xow this we have done for the pleasure of all. 

And to the inanimate gave life. 
We deem it the best new things to install 

And give to Dame Nature new life. 

James B. Elmore, 



INOKX 



PAGE. 

Preface iii 

Love Among the Mistletoe 1 

Bessie, the Belle of Alamp 48 

Scenes in School 49 

A Bird's Eye View of a Court Election Scene 50 

Simile of Gold and Silver, by Maid and Man 52 

The Wrecked Train 54 

Alamo 56 

The Germ or Nucleus of Alamo 58 

The Cricket 61 

Heroes of Santiago de Cuba 62 

Indiana 64 

Shoe Cobbler 65 

The Soul 66 

The Shades 67 

Jugging Bumblebees ... 69 

Workings of Bees 71 

Raising the Flag 72 

Childish Glee 75 

A Back-woods School 77 

Alone in the Woods 78 

Yonntsville 79 

A Description of History 81 

The Old Sawmill 82 

Alcohol 83 

Over the Hills to the School House. . 84 

Crawfordsviile, alias Athene 86 

The Red Bird 87 

Soldiers' Monument » . 89 

Office-seeking 91 

Childhood in the Orchard » .92 

The Hero oi Manila 93 

The Savior 95 

The Editors 97 

Election Day 98 

Little Dog Fred 99 

(V) 



INDEX. 



PAGE. 

A Snowflake 101 

A Hornet's Nest 102 

The Cunning, Covetous Jew 103 

The Kagoedv Gal 106 

The Wells tragedy 108 

Maxwell Ill 

The Kissing Bug 114 

The Happy Farmer 115 

John Chinaman, My Joe 117 

The Painter Poet, J. W. Riley 119 

Pocahontas 120 

Hans Spadgens' Hen 122 

The Robin 124 

Our Flag 12G 

A View of Nature 127 

Kind Deeds 128 

The Monon Wreck 129 

A Revival Meeting 133 

My Mary of Missouri 134 

Money Moves 137 

Mary's Lamb 138 

Language 139 

The Warship Maine 140 

Thanksgiving 142 

A Country Sawmill Wagon 143 

A Characterized School 144 

A Country E'der 145 

Death of D. W. Voorhees I'^G 

The Frog 147 

Pearl Bryan's Fato 149 

Botanical Science 152 

The Critic Pro Tem 153 

Wabash College .154 

Jim Elmore's Best 156 

Dudes and Sassafras 157 

The Country Boy 159 

Interurban Railv^'ay 104 

The Modern Woodman • 105 

When I Was Young 167 

To a Bird • 169 

Our Father • • 170 



INDEX. 



PAGE 

When the Pawpaws are Ripe 171 

Stick to Your Calling 172 

My Sweetheart of Long Ago . 174 

Jennie's Ride 179 

" The Bard of Alamo " 181 

The Ladies' Athenian Club 182 

Do Ol' Plantation 184 

Lawion's Brigade 18G 

The Poet 188 

A Sonnet 190 

Our Baby 190 

Life 192 

Poets are Born, Not Made ]94 

The Buggy 195 

"Ben Hur" in Drama ....••• 196 

A Sonnet 199 

Acrostic 200 

What the Hoosier Sees ii; Chicago 200 

Acrostic 20;> 

Acrostic 204 

Sugar-making Song 204 

Sugar Making . . > 206 

Acrostic 210 

Abige and Turkey Tom 210 

Music , 213 

How Success is AVon 217 

Envoy 223 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 

Names of Characters: 

John Arno Rival 

Mrs. Arno Kingston 

George Hope Servant 

Fay Larchen Accomplice 

Cecil Ivy Suitor 

Violet Payne Queenstown 

Agnes Percy Accomplice, Oaken 

Mrs. Payne. 

Kailroad Station, Fairmount 

A LONG a winding river, where grew forests of 
'**' chestnut, magnolia and elm, many years ago» a 
very rich man settled and bought a large tract of 
land, lying on each side of this beautiful stream. He 
lived here in solitude for a number of years on his 
vast estate, lying on either side of the great Eock 
Eiver, stretching for miles up and down the stream, 
clothed in the most picturesque scenery. 

But one fine day a son was born to him, and was 
christened John Arno. He was a very beautiful 
child, and heir to all the estate. The plantation 
grew and grew, and became more attractive as a pub- 
lic resort, as the adjoining lands were cleared and 
made into farms. Around this place a great many 
incidents cling. The old man and woman were of 
Quaker descent, and were very odd. They had a kind 
of an aversion to society, but they built for them- 
2 (1) 



INDIANA. 



selves a palace on the highest hank of the river, or in 
other words it was a vast citadel. One had but to 
look out and behold the river below, with its nar- 
rows and whispering galleries as the winds gently 
passed by. 

In this pleasant situation John grew to manhood, 
playing along the river, hunting pretty shells, and 
climbing the hills, which teemed with wild flowers, 
corded grape-vines and mistletoe. He would take his 
hook and line, and would fish for bass, silversides and 
gold fish. He would sit on a Yery large rock in the 
river, known as the Old Eagle Rock, where the last 
wild Indian was shot and killed by a neighbor while 
he was fishing. The Indian incurred the enmity of 
this man by telling stories of vast lead mines on the 
plantation, whose location he kept a secret, and by 
telling how he had killed white people and infant 
children by taking them by the feet and knocking 
their brains out against the walls of their houses, and 
as you know by tradition even back to the ancients. 
The blood of this Indian is on this rock to-day as it 
gushed forth and he plunged into the river. John 
would take long rambles in the woods, and he became 
acquainted with the different kinds of wild flowers 
which grew on every knoll and hill. The creeks and 
rills rippled over mossy beds and pebbly bottoms 
which sparkled like diamonds. 

On the north bank of Rock River was a large cave. 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 



Ivnown as Hidden Mystery, where oft John and the 
people woiikl go with lanterns and torches as ex- 
plorers. This cave had many rooms and domes, with 
sweet waters. The water which trickled down the 
walls left them encrusted, which shone all around like 
stars or rubies when exposed to the light of the lan- 
terns. The M^ater which trickled down overhead left 
spires as clear as crystal, and in the bottom were 
porous rock and eyeless fish. 

Xow, John was old enough to go to school, but he 
had been born and raised in one of Nature's grandest 
of art schools in the world. His father determined 
to send him to school at Boston, where he could add 
to his natural learning a scientific knowledge and 
come in contact with the wealth and pomp of the old 
world among the gay ladies and Jeweled princesses. 
The day came, and John, with his father, embarked 
on a steamer for Boston. Down the great Mississippi 
they go to the Gulf of ^lexico, where they embark on 
a large vessel for Xew York, and thence to Boston. 
In about a week they are in Boston, and John is sent 
to college, where he is to stay five years, or until he is 
twenty years old. His father goes home and engages 
in stocks and bonds and pork-packing, and it seemed 
as though he had the touch of the fabled Midas, as 
everything he touched turned into the yellow metal. 

But, as you have learned, this is one of the prettiest 
places in the world, with its semi-tropical scenery, 



INDIANA. 



and it being a favorite watering-place, people from 
all over the world came on tours of pleasure and en- 
vied the old man his possessions, and young lasses 
sought the hand of his son. There was a great 
bridge across Rock Eiver at this place, where people 




THE CASTLE. 



would cross and linger for hours and hours looking at 
the scenery, and the great mansion which overlooked 
the crowning hill. In these days it was something 
uncommon to see such a large building in this section 
of country, and such elevators of stored grain. In 
the cellar of this grand mansion was everything that 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 



man could wish — all kinds of fruits and viands. 
There Avere malt liquors which had grown old with 
age, and which had become thick and white hke 
cream, and lost their tart, biting sting, such as epi- 
cures would like to sample. The barrels were cov- 
ered with moss like that on the rock of ages. 

Xow, this toiling father was growing old, and his 
very dream was the idol of his son, on whom he 
wished to bestow all his wealth — not only the treas- 
ures of this earth, but the treasures of his heart also. 
And the mother — a meek, gentle woman, polished 
and mannerly, a very type of beauty and of her race. 
It seems as though wealth is an incentive to bring 
the beautiful of earth together, which begets beauty 
until it is in a perfect state, enabling one to grow in 
ease and pleasure, and therefore grow to manhood 
and obtain those luxuries and necessities which are 
builders of symmetry. The mother has impressed 
upon her son the kind, gentle spirit of her life, and is 
looking forward to the crowning of her glory. 

John has now gone to college for two years, and 
has made many acquaintances, and has looked upon 
many fair faces. He has been leader in his class, 
having inherited the will-power of his father, and he 
has refused the hand of many fair ladies. But in 
the midst of his success his father dies, leaving all in 
his hands; but his mother is to assume control of the 
estate until he is twent3^-one years of age. He is 



INDIANA. 



called home to the funeral of his father, and stays a 
week for recreation, 'and during this week at home he 
returns to his old playgrounds amidst the hills and 
vines along the creek, and in one of his rambles he 
spies a neat, beautiful form standing on the bank of 
the stream and looking at him. He looks again, and 
he is bewildered with the brightness of her face. He 
had never looked npon such a one before. A feeling 
of love came over him as she tossed at him a red rose 
that he could not resist. His large blue eyes peered 
into hers, which were a beautiful brown, and there 
was such a charm in them that he waded across the 
stream to greet her, and, climbing up the little 
hillock, he bowed and introduced himself as Mr. John 
Arno, of Kingston. She also bowed with courtesy 
and said: "Miss Violet Payne, of Queenstown," and 
her voice closed with a musical Scottish accent which 
he never forgot — that voice he could hear at all times. 
It was to him like that of the sweet sirens of the 
lonely isles. 

The happy meeting was like that which befalls 
some awful catastrophe. For a moment all was silent 
while each looked upon the other. Then he said: 
"Let's take a ramble and cnll some pretty flowers." 
They started off on a tour of the hills and valleys, 
seeking the pretty flowers and shells, and walked 
along Echoing Glen, whose upright walls rebounded 
the human voice, and where the wild pheasants beat 



LOVE AMONG THE INIISTLETOE. 



upon their breasts with their wings, which seemed 
like the distant sound of some primeval drum. Then 
as they retraced their steps the quail whistled a signal 
of approaching eve, and the whip-poor-will darted 
here and there. On arriving at her carriage they 
agreed to correspond w^th each other wdien he arrived 
at school and she at her home. Then the driver was 
ready, and a crack of the wdiip sent the carriage roll- 
ing away over the pike, wdiile he stood in low spirits, 
watching the one object of his mind vanish out of 
sight. 

He returned to his home at Kingston late in the 
evening. His mother discovered that he did not act 
with as much high spirits as usual, but she supposed 
that it was owing to the death of his father and his 
having to return to school on the morrow. He as- 
sisted his mother with her work as best he could, and 
appeared to be as cheerful as one could under the 
circumstances. His m. other noticed, too, that there 
was an expression of absent-mindedness in his de- 
meanor, and she meditated herself as to the cause of 
it. She thought that if her son appeared so at school 
that he would do no good, but she hoped and trusted 
for the better. 

John went to bed wdth a light heart, and he could 
hear that vessel beat and throb at his breast with 
greater ardor than usual. He lay on his bed with 
his mind's eye placed upon the object w^hich he had 



INDIANA. 



seen across the flowing river and standing like a 
statue on the little hillock. But as his anxiety was 
worn away he passed into deep repose, thinking little 
of the future. That bed was to him like the bed of 
shamrock and roses to the daughter of Daniel 
O'Connell on the banks of the Sharon in the Emerald 
Isle. But on his awaking he felt like he was trans- 
ported from a land of sweet dreams, and went about 
greeting his mother and getting his many things to- 
gether for his return to school. His mother tried to 
be in his presence as much as possible, for she knew 
how long two years of absence would be, and as she 
was getting old she might not survive that time But 
all seemed well for the time. She knew she would 
have to spend her time with the servants and make 
the most of life, for her husband, Mr. Arno, was a 
cheerful man, jolly and sociable. 

The time for his departure had come, and George, 
the old servant of the family, who had been so good 
and trusty for so many years, had the best team of 
roadsters hitched to take him to the station. He 
walked out to the carriage, while his baggage was 
carried by the servant. His mother followed to bid 
him good-bye, and to give him a check for $500, his 
yearly allowance set apart by his father. As he took 
the check he shook hands with his mother, and tears 
stood in his bright blue eyes so large that Ihey 
dimmed his sight, and his mother could scarcely bear 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 



up under the sadness of heart. George had already 
seated himself in the carriage, and John, springing 
in, seated himself hy his side. As George pulled the 
reins they are off immediately. 

It is twenty miles to the station, but John gets 
George to go by way of Queenstown, which is about 
five miles out of the way, so that he may see the home 
of Violet, and, if possible, get a glimpse of her. 
George wonders why John wanted to go that way, 
but hesitated to interrogate him. About a mile north 
of Queenstown is a quaint little cottage, surrounded 
by chestnuts and evergreens, and whose lawns were 
decorated with smilax, honeysuckles and chrysanthe- 
mums. It recalls to one the scene of Maud Muller's 
beautiful country home, as portrayed by the artful 
mind of Whittier. As they approach this lovely place 
they behold a beautiful little cottage, like that of a 
shepherd in Scotland. George notices that John is 
restless, and is constantly looking in the distant yard. 
Violet is near where the lambkins are at play, amus- 
ing herself with these gentle animals. They are 
driving very fast, and John salutes her with his hand- 
kerchief; but she does not fully recognize him, but 
thinks it resembles the heir at Kingston. George 
for the first time has his suspicion aroused, for he too 
saw the beautiful physique of the lady, which to him 
was an ideal of symmetry. They speed along, and 
John gives George a faint idea of his friendship's 



10 INDIANA. 



episode, trusting him to keep the secret. Now, this 
was like a bomb to George, as he had never seen John 
in the company of ladies. They arrive at the station; 
it is after noon and the train is on time, and their 
words of parting are few. He hands to George a 
sweet-scented Havana cigar, and requests him to give 
his mother his best love and esteem, and asks him to 
keep his secret. The train has now arrived; they 
shake hands, and John is off for the Mississippi and 
George to the grief-stricken home, where he finds 
Mrs. Arno awaiting his arrival, and the incidents of 
her son's departure. When everything is attended 
to they seat themselves and George relates how cheer- 
fully they made the trip, and how John got on the 
train and it glided off with the wings of a bird. But 
he never once hinted of the beautiful peasant home 
which they had passed. ^Irs. Arno was a kind, gentle 
woman, and had no dislike for the poor or those who 
were less fortunate than herself. But she well knew 
the position wealth placed one in in society, and so 
she desired her son to marry a lady of wealth. She 
went about her work in the same industrious manner 
that she had always done, and George had to assume 
the responsibility and care of the estate under her 
supervision. 

In a few da3^s John arrived at school, and went 
about his work with ardor, for he was ambitious and 
filled with zeal. He met all his old friends and 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 11 

treated them as best he coukl in the condition he was 
placed by the death of his father and the parting of 
his new acquaintance. He assumed rather the habits 
of a Thoreau, but he was always at the head of his 
class. The time passed away very fast, and one even- 
ing, while meditating, he resolved to write to Violet, 
and, seating himself at his table, which was strewn 
with the sophomore's books, he attempted to write her 
a letter, but their acquaintance was so brief that he 
hardly knew what to write. So he wrote a neat letter 
of friendship, rehearsing their first meeting and their 
ramble over hills and valleys, which he so much en- 
joyed, and would some time in the future be pleased 
to see her again, and of the favorable impression he 
had formed of her. He also related to her his long 
trip, and how he went from place to place until he 
arrived at Boston. He requested her to write soon, 
and closed with these beautiful lines: 

How sweet it is to me, I find. 
To live in hearts we leave behind. 
Your friend, 

John Akno, 

Boston, Mass. 

In due time Violet received this letter and read it 
with care, noting everything, even the style and ex- 
pression. She kept it all a secret, for she had a fel- 
low by the name of Cecil Ivy, who had been courting 



12 INDIANA. 



her for a long time, and who was well-to-do and very 
good looldng, and who had many friends, and of 
whom Violet thought very well. She made up her 
mind to write Mr, Arno a letter, thanking him very 
much for the high esteem in which he held her, and 
acknowledging the receipt of his very welcome letter. 
She told him of her trip home from Eock Kiver, and 
how she admired the grandeur of the scenery, and she 
closed by soliciting an answer and signing: 
Your friend. 

Miss Violet Payne, 

Queenstown, lenn. 

She has a lady friend by the name of Fay Larchen 
in whom she places confidences, and often trusted her 
with her secrets. In a few days she meets Fay, and 
they go for a ramble in the orchard near the old well, 
where the ancient shadoosh overhangs the curb, with 
a moss-covered vessel attached to the end of a pole, 
the like of which would suggest a good place to tell 
one's secrets. Here Violet narrates to Fay her trip 
to the river, her meeting of John Arno ar;d their 
pleasant walk, and her promise to write to him when 
he arrived in Boston. She shows John's letter, and 
Fay is so fascinated with it that she wants to write to 
John, as Violet already has a gentleman friend. 
Violet does not consent, although she thinks well of 
Cecil, and trusts all will be well. Fay, bejng de- 
feated in her wish, confides her secret to Cecil, which 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 13 

is bound to create a jealousy. Cecil now goes to see 
Violet, who seems to be as cheerful as ever and treats 
him with as much courtesy. But he pushes his suit 
more than ever, and accuses her of another gentle- 
man friend. She acknowledges the receipt of a letter, 
but that 'twas only a friendship one. Cecil makes 
greater appeals of love, and asks her hand, but she 
withholds her answer. He still comes to see her, and 
her mother tells her that she is getting old, and that 
she will need an arm upon which to lean, when she is 
gone; also, Fay tries to induce her to accept, but she 
can't decide. 

Violet now sees a rival in Fay, if she but gives her 
the opportunity. So she is a little shy until she is 
more settled in her mind. But during this Lime she 
receives another letter from John acknowledging the 
receipt of hers. He is now some encouraged, and has 
recovered from home affairs, and his pen glows with 
a gentle ripple of harmony. He tells her how he is 
getting along, and hopes he may be home soon. He 
closed again with a few lines on their first meeting: 

The day that I stood beside the brook. 

And thou stood on the hill, 
I gave but one mild, gentle look. 
Whilst thou stood still. 
x^Lnswer soon. 

Your friend, 

John Ar2s^o, 

Boston, Mass. 



14 INDIANA. 



Yiolet does not show this letter, and Cecil comes 
on and presses his suit, and A-'iolet does not know ex- 
actly what to do. She knows that Cecil loves her, 
but she is not certain about John, as he has been very 
delicate, and she does not know that she is the only 
lady friend he ever had. 

Cecil asks her to take a drive out to Eock River, 
and she consents. The day is set, and they drive.out. 
They go up and down the river, and view Paradise 
Alley, where the scenes are as beautiful as the word 
implies, with its little stream flowing ovei shining 
pebbles, and a narrow path extending along each side, 
with such pretty mosses and hanging vines ihat one 
nearly loses consciousness. While here, Cecil thinks 
he may overcome her obstinacy, and he talks of the 
future, and his love for her, and hopes she may 'con- 
sent to his proposal; but she drops the conversation 
by alluding to their pleasant surroundings. They 
pass on and come to Pleasant View, where they as- 
cend a little mound opposite a beautiful cascade, 
whose waters fall about twenty feet and turn in a boil 
below, forming a white foam, and a gentle zephyr 
carries a mist into the air, on which is mirrored all 
the prismatic colors of the rainbow. 

In this picturesque place Cecil says in his heart: 
"This world would I give, were it mine, for the hand 
of Violet." George, the old servant, is looking over 
the estate, and sees these two young people, and 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 15 

watches them. He thinks he recognizes the form he 
saw at the peasant cottage, and he knows by their 
actions that they are lovers. They pass on ond arrive 
at a clifl', where the old eagles are feeding their young, 
and the whole cliff seems to be perforated or honey- 
combed. Then they arrive at the little hillock where 
she first met John Arno, and she pauses and looks 
down upon the spot where he stood, gazing in space, 
speechless, thinking: ^'Was it true, or is it only a 
fancy, such as lovers are apt to have?" Cecil notices 
this, and he is spellbound to know what it means. 
Violet sees in her mind's eye that tall, graceful form 
standing there, and says to herself, "I would he could 
be there now." George, by this strange incident, is 
certain that it is Violet, and that there is a strain 
upon her mind — something that is clothed in mystery 
or hidden in the deep recesses of the soul. Cecil and 
Violet pass on, but Violet is not cheerful, and they 
go to the carriage and return home. Cecil does the 
talking, while she is meditating, only now and then 
assenting to what he says. They part at the gate 
with the same friendship as before. Cecil has ac- 
cused her of her love for some other one, but she 
keeps her secrets. He goes home and gets Fay Lar- 
chen to visit Violet, and they repair to the old swing 
in the orchard to talk over old times, and Fay tries 
to solicit Violet to tell her more about John; but 
Violet is wise in her own counsel, and she is reticent. 



16 INDIANA. 



Then Fa}^ shows the good qualities of Cecil, and 
Violet admits its being so. Fay also talks to Violet's 
mother, and tries in that way to find out something. 
But as yet she knows little of Violet's meeting John. 
George, the servant, writes to John what he saw, and 
tells all he knows about the circumstances, and de- 
scribes the man which he saw with her the best that 
he can, and about her standing on the little hillock, 
gazing on the shoal of pebbles, mussel and periwinkle 
shells. 

It has been some time since Violet received a letter, 
and she now, since she has taken the pleasure trip 
and has been relieved from the pressure of friends, 
seats herself to write to John. She relates her trip 
to Eock Piiver and the pleasant time she had, and 
recalls the place of their first meeting so long ago. 
She tells how many young people she saw boating 
and moving slcrwly down the stream with the current, 
and the gay laughter that echoed in her ears. But 
she never once says a word of her gentleman friend 
who accompanied her. She makes herself appear as 
happy as possible, and hopes he is so in the Hub City 
in a whirlpool of society, and closes with a very 
friendly greeting. 

Little does she know of the strain on his mind to 
get an education and become famous, and of his seclu- 
sion from society. He has received George's letter 
some davs before, and he knows, when he receives 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 17 

Violet's letter, that George is true and faithful, and 
that he really saw Violet at tlie dells. Jolm is wor- 
ried about the gentleman that George saw with her, 
hut he makes up his mind never to say a word to her 
about it, and trusts to silence as the best road to 
long friendship, as it will be more manly and let 
his affections pass to her heart as the seraphs take 
their flight from earth to heaven. And he well 
knows, in the language of Shakespeare, that ^'light 
winning makes the prize light." So he studies on, 
with a little fear in his heart lest he fail in his love. 
He writes to his dear mother and George, telling his 
situation, and how he is advancing in his studies, and 
speaks of his being well, and thanks George for his 
many favors so that his mother will not understand 
what he has reference to. He now writes to Violet, 
acknowledging the receipt of her ever-welcome letter, 
and the happiness which it gave him to hear from her 
and that life was a pleasure to her. But he thought 
that he needed some assistance to counteract Fay in 
her work for Cecil. So he writes to his cousin, Agnes 
Percy, at Oaken, a nice letter, and sends his picture, 
requesting her to go and make the acquaintance of 
A'iolet and to give her the picture, and tell her of his 
deep love which he has for her, and to see if Violet 
returned his affection. 

Now, x\gnes was a good messenger, for she was well 
received by Violet, and her very face bore the impres- 



18 INDIANA. 



sion of confidence, and, as you know, when one is in 
love and troubled, they are low-spirited and apt to tell 
secrets. They went to the orchard, so as to be alone, 
and to talk together. Agnes drew from her bosom 
the photograph of John and handed it to Violet, who, 
on recognizing it, pressed it to her lips and kissed it. 
Then she leaned over and embraced Agnes. This act 
sealed their friendship. Agnes knew well that Violet 
loved, and as she w\is John's cousin, she no longei 
hid it from her. She told Agnes that she loved Cecil, 
but had not consented to his proposal, and that she 
thought well of John also, but that she did not know 
whether he would return her love. So Agnes told 
her how much John was infatuated with her, and to 
wait awhile before she made up her mind, and that 
John was delicate on such matters, and how he had 
solicited her to assist him, and that she thought him 
in earnest. So A^iolet said she would defer answerin;; 
Cecil for some time. Then Agnes'returned home and 
wrote to John what she had done and what she had 
found out. Then John thought.that he was all right 
if he could come home soon. His school will soon 
close, and he will be one of the best in his class, and 
he can begin life for himself with honor. 

Cecil kept on going with Violet as before, and kept 
the same old struggle in her heart alive. She did not 
feel like casting him off, for fear of the worst, and so 
it fdled her very soul with gloom, and her mother sug- 



LOVE a:mong the mistletoe. 19 

gested that Cecil was all right and would make a good 
husband, but Violet said nothing, which only made 
her the more miserable. Her heart* burst to tell her 
secret, but she dare not. If she could but see Agnes 
and relicA^e herself of her lo'ad, she would give all she 
])ossessed. She would get in the carriage and go, but 
she would have to pass Cecil's home, and that would 
give her away; so she must smother the burning flame 
within her breast. 

School is now about to close, and John's mother is 
sick, and he is anxious to return. John's mother re- 
called to George the sadness of her son when he left 
home, and wondered why it was. George remarked 
that it might be a love affair, ^but said no more. As 
the school neared a close, days were as months. His 
mother was growing weaker, and John must go home 
to see her. George notifies him of his mother's con- 
dition, and informs him that she is only convalescent, 
and to fear not, for he will care for her. 

John remains at school until its close, and gradu- 
ates. He then packs his things for home — the dear- 
est spot to him on earth! No one knows what home 
is until away in a distant land, and let remorse come 
over them, or get disheartened — and John has experi- 
enced all of this. His goods are expressed to the 
wharf, and John embarks on a great Atlantic steamer 
for New Orleans, where he takes a Mississippi steam- 
boat for home. He arrives at Fairmount station, and 



20 INDIANA. 



George is there, according to a j)rearrangement which 
they had consummated. John asks George to go hy 
way of Oaken, so that he may see Agnes and learn all 
about Violet that he can. They arrive at Oaken and 
they go in, and his cousin and aunt are glad to see 
them. John asks Agnes about Violet, and Agnes 
tells him she is the Jinest lady she ever met, so nice 
and accomplished, but that he may have hard w^orl^: to 
win her, and that Cecil is still keeping her company. 
Agnes tells him she is a perfect type of womanhood. 
John then requests Agnes to- visit Violet frequently, 
and to give her his best respects, and inform her of 
how much admiration he has for her, and that he will 
be very reticent, and that he 'thinks he can succeed 
better in that way, as it will deceive Cecil and Fay if 
he is not seen about Queenstown. It will be hard for 
him to stay awa}^, but he has great will-power and can 
control himself in that matter. He also requests her 
to visit him soon at Kingston, and that his mother 
will be glad to see her. 

He then starts for home, where he finds his mother 
improving in health, and she is very glad to see him, 
and to give the management of the estate over to him 
and relieve her mind from its care. The mother is 
glad to know that her son is a graduate, and thinks 
she sees a bright future before him, for, as Solomon 
has said, "A wise son maketh a glad father," it follows 
that the mother would be glad also. 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 21 

John looks over the estate to see what is needed, 
but his mind is not content, and he often finds him- 
self wandering as if in dreamland. He has never 
been in such a condition before, and he thinks it is on 
account of his affection for Violet, and he is contem- 
plating as to how he will propose to her, and he wants 
to do it in the best manner that he possibly can. He 
sends for Agnes to come and visit him at the castle, 
and then he thinks he may see some way out of the 
difficulty. George is dispatched for Agnes, and told 
to call on Violet as he "returns, and have Agnes to 
converse with lier and tell her of his unrest of mind, 
and that he must see her soon. When George reaches 
Agnes's house she is as happy as a lark and pleased to 
make the visit. Her mother assists her to get ready 
and gives her permission to stay for a fortnight. 
When they are ready they are off for the visit. They 
soon arrive at Violet's home, and find the same grand 
personage busy with the things about her home. 
Violet welcomes them in, and George makes the ac- 
(juaintance of Mrs. Payne and converses with her 
while Agnes talks with Violet, and speaks to her about 
tTohn and his condition of mind, and says that she may 
send for her while she is at the Arno castle, and she 
consents to come. Violet sends her best respects to 
John, and her picture. Mrs. Payne thinks strange of 
this proceeding, and begins to question Violet about 
their calling; but she has a level head, and avoids the 



22 INDIANA. 



matter by telling bcr mother that it was only a 
friendly visit. But Mrs. Payne is not perfectly satis- 
fied in her own mind. 

George and Agnes go on to the Arno home, and 
find John and Mrs. Arno very glad to see them. 
What a bright, cheerful girl Agnes is! It makes one 
happy to be in her presence, and Mrs. Arno is much 
better by Agnes's coming to see her. As soon as 
Agnes and Mrs. Arno converse awhile, John seeks an 
opportunity to speak to her about Violet. They go 
to the parlor, and while looking at the pictures on the 
center table John asks about Yiolet. Agnes tells 
John that Violet sent her best respects to him, and, 
opening her valise, took out a picture and gave it to 
him, and a mingled feeling of surprise and wonder 
came over him. His mind is carried back by the 
beautiful photograph to the little hillock where first 
he saw her standing like a beautiful flower which the 
dew of morn had caressed, and, standing among these 
beautiful environments, the brilliant rays of the sun 
only added splendor to the scene that he beheld; and, 
recovering himself, he said: 

"Agnes, this is the most beautiful picture that I 
ever saw. It is so like Violet — so modest, so charm- 
ing. She is the only lady that I ever met whose 
personal appearance has had such a control over me. 
She has changed imy whole life. You know how I 
used to ramble in the woods and dells by myself, and 



LOVE AMONCi THE MISTLETOE. 23 

perfectly happy; but now 1 am not. 1 must see Violet 
soon, or I fear that Cecil will overcome her and make 
my life miserable. I. have trusted to you, Agnes, my 
most profound secrets, and relied on you to secvire the 
information which would win me the prize and make 
me happy. I hope you have done all you could, for 
there is no other person I would like to trust so 
well.^' 

Agnes thanks him for the confidence which he 
places in her. She assures him that what she tells 
him is true, and tliat he can win her if he only pro- 
ceeds in earnest before she would consent to wed 
Cecil, and that she has been delaying to answer Cecil 
to hear from him. So he arranges to go and see her 
and find out some of her parentage, and become better 
convinced of her beauty and surroundings. So he 
gets ready and goes on Thursday. He thinks it is a 
lucky da}^, and that he may avoid meeting Cecil, as 
he would be likely to be there on Sunday, for he has 
not ceased to woo her. 

When John arrives he sees her at a distance water- 
ing the beautiful lawn which surrounds the neat little 
country home. She knows him, and quits her work 
and comes to meet him. They greet each other very 
cheerful!}^, and talk of the pleasant day, and of the 
most cheerful things one could think of. She tells 
him she is so glad that he came, as she had wanted to 
see him for so long and talk of their first happy meet- 



24 INDIANA. 



ing, which seemed to her like a miracle. He canaot 
help but show his appreciation of her, and she knows 
full well how to act, which adds to her personal 
charms. He is invited into the house and introduced 
to Mrs. ra3me, who receives him with kindness. This 
is the first time she has ever seen him, hut now she 
knows what has made Violet act so strange with 
Cecil. She can't help but admire the manl}^ courage 
and conversation of John. His very demeanor is par 
excellence, which makes him attractive to an^^one. 

Mrs. Payne converses with him awhile, and then 
retires from the room and leaves Violet alone with 
him. They spend the time pleasantly, talking of the 
many beautiful things which they saw the day of their 
ramble along the river. John relates many things 
which occurred at Boston during his stay there, and 
the life of one in the cit}^, and of the gay people in 
their gaudy dress. But presently the conversation 
changes to friendship affairs. John relates to her 
that he has heard that she has another suitor, and shj 
acknowledges that she has, and that he is nice, kind 
and agreeable, but that she has greater admiration 
for him than Cecil, and that she did not desire to 
mistreat him, and that she only used courtesy in go- 
ing with him. John acts in his selfsame manner, and 
says no harm of Cecil, as some rivals are wont to do- 
Jolm is perfect in the art of readiug human nature, 
and knows that the least said the easier mended, and 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 25 

that stillness makes a wise head. It is in this way 
that he has had such an influence over the object of 
his love, for she could not resist his manly composure, 
for it was a tell-tale expression which lingered long 
in her heart. It shows that it is true that persons, on 
meeting, either like or dislike. There are certain 
features that charm the windows of the soul which 
cannot be resisted. He does not ask her to quit going 
with Cecil, but leaves that to her pleasure. He says 
that he may give her an invitation tc visit him at the 
castle while Agnes is there, and siie says she would 
be pleased to do so, and says that she admires the 
scenes along the river, and especially the great bridge, 
where she had stood for hours and hours watching the 
fish jump up out of the wat'.-r. He requests her not 
to tell anyone of his visits and that stillness is the best, 
and that it will allay gossip. He speaks well of her 
widowed mother, and thanks her for the kindness 
which he had received at her home. Then he gets 
ready to return home, and Violet goes with him to the 
gate, where they bid each other good-bye in the way 
which is the custom of lovers. John leaves no en- 
gagement, as he expects to s€"e her at his home some 
time soon. 

He returns home better pleased than ever, as he 
thinks that he is all riG:ht. He tells x\o'nes all about 
how ^lie received him, "and that she is the means of 
his success, and that she still must assist him, and that 



26 INDIANA. 



he has made arrangements for Violet to visit them 
while she is with them. 

"Good!" says Agnes. "When do you expect her?" 

"I do not know/^ said John. "I intend to send 
you after her." 

"I would be pleased to go," said Agnes. 

Now, Agnes is the means by which John seeks to 
get Violet to come to their home. John's niother is 
not so well as usual, and detains her son about the 
house, which afTords him an opportunity to plan with 
Agnes for Violet's coming to see them. 

Cecil goes to see her on Sunday, and is treated very 
kindly, and he spends a pleasant evening, and talks 
very afl'ectionately; but Violet tells him she has not 
yet made up her mind. She does not tell him of 
John's visit, and does not intend to now; but she fears 
Fay may find it out. She has confidence in Cecil, 
and thinks if John proposes she can make things all 
right with him, as he is a perfect gentleman. Her 
mother thinks strange of her keeping company with 
two such nice gentlemen, and says she had better let 
one go; but she uses her own pleasure in the matter. 

Cecil returns home happy and calls on Fay, and 
asks her to visit Violet at her first opportunity and 
get any information that she can, thinking that some 
word may be dropped that he may interpret for his 
good. Fay goes immediately to visit Violet, and finds 
her as cheerful as usual. They talk at the house for 



LOVE AMONG THE ISIISTLETOE. 27 

awhile, and then they repair to the grove near hy, 
where everything is lovely, and there talk things 
which they desire to be kept a secret. They talk of 
their friends and old times, which they desire to re- 
call as they grow older and they see the w^orld or 
themselves are changing. They realize that time is 
fleeting, and that they are transformed from girls to 
womanhood, and that their minds are changing from 
trivial things to reach out and grapple with the world. 
At this point of the conversation Fay speaks of their 
lovers, and she asks Violet if she thinks of Cecil as a 
future companion, and Violet says she has not yet de- 
termined, as that is a serious matter and must have 
some reflection. Fay, in a neat way, speaks of CeciFs 
character as being good and above reproach. Violet 
lets the conversation on this line drop, and speaks of 
the coming fashions, and what she would like to have 
for an outing dress. It is now evening, and Fay must 
return home, defeated in her purpose. She bids 
Violet good-bye, and asks her to visit her. Violet 
says she will, and asks her to come again. 

Violet is now left alone, and she meditates as to 
how hard it is to withstand the pressure of friends 
and the cunning devices which are sometimes used 
which reach to one's very soul. She loves Fay, but 
thinks she is trying to pry into her secrets for a par- 
pose. Violet goes about her work, and speaks to her 
mother about Fay making such inquiries about her 



28 INDIANA. 



affections for Cecil. She tells her mother how she 
answered her, and her mother told her she had done 
all right. 

In a short time there is a carriage at the gate, and a 
man and a lady alighting. She cannot think who it 
is. She watches closely to ascertain who it is, but 
presently the doorbell rings and Violet opens the 
door. Then she recognizes Agnes and George. She 
shakes hnnds with George and kisses Agnes. She 
asks them to be seated. Her mother comes in and 
recognizes George as one who used to accompany Mr. 
Arno when he used to buy stock, and Agnes she 
knows, as she only lives a few miles away. After they 
pass the time of day they talk of social matters and 
the pleasant ride they had just taken, when Agnes 
relates to A'iolet that John had sent for her to come 
over with them to the Arno castle. She says that 
she will do so with pleasure, and speaks to her mother 
about it. Her mother grants her request and assists 
her to get ready. Everything is as pleasant as possi- 
ble, and Agnes does what she can to assist Violet to 
get ready to go. Violet's mother thinks all may not 
be well, and meditates what to do. So she picks up 
courage and asks if she may accompany them. Their 
hearts beat with joy as they tell her certainly, she will 
be welcome. So they set about to assist her to get in 
readiness to go, and she makes arrangements to stay 
for a day or two, as she does not know how long they 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 29 



may be gone. When all is ready they repair to the 
carriage, and Yiolet and her mother occupy the rear 
seat, and Agnes and George in front. One could not 
help but admire Agnes, for she is as cheerful as a lark 
on a June morning, and her mind flits from one thing 
to another as they glide along over the pike. There 
are many beautiful landscapes as they pass along, and 
Violet is able to explain them all to her mother, for 
she has seen them many times before. It is a long 
ride, but the horses are fleet and they go along very 
lively. They speed along, up hill and down, and over 
the level plain, and the pleasant conversation of the 
young people recalls to Mrs. Payne very vividly her 
childhood days, when she too was fond of such excur- 
sions. They soon come in sight of the great resi- 
dence of the Arnos, situated on a distant hill amidst 
picturesque scenery. There is a great chasm between 
them and the residence, where runs the clear waters 
of Eock River, spanned by the great bridge where 
Violet had been many times before, and of which she 
had told her mother; but she had never been at the 
residence on the hill, where now she was going. They 
soon must cross the bridge and reach their destina- 
tion. The horses' feet are now popping on the 
bridge, and they look out and see some one looking at 
them. Violet is certain that she knows who it is, but 
she says nothing. They reach the ascent atd wind 
slowly up the hill to the iron gate, where John is 



80 INDIANA. 



ready to receive them. John now sees that he is cap- 
tivated, and repeats these beautiful lines: 
Here on the hill doth stand 
The stateliest mansion in all the land, 
A fairy home with lawns of green, 
Where reigns a peasant romance queen — 
Not alone of flowers and dells, 
But of the heart of one as well. 
They are invited in and introduced to Mrs. Arno, 
who is still convalescent, but she asks them to lay off 
their things and make themselves comfortable. Mrs. 
Arno is surprised with the beauty of Violet, and at 
the attention which her son pays to her. The house 
is beautifully arranged and furnished in grand style. 
Tt is nicer than Violet has ever seen. Mrs. Arno sets 
herself about entertaining Mrs. Payne, and they be- 
come warm friends. She leaves the young people to 
take care of themselves. They seat themselves 
around the center table and look at the pictures, and 
Violet comes to one taken when a boy, and looks it 
over and over. John remarks: "That is your friend." 
''So I see," said Violet. Agnes is as gay as ever, and 
now and then gets in a bit of fun. John thinks it is 
near time for him to propose, but his heart ebbs quite 
low. and he thinks that he can hear it beat against his 
breast. Agnes can see that there is a struggle going 
on in John's breast, and w^ould leave them alone if 
she could excuse herself. It is nearing meal time. 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 31 

and she has to assist, so she gets an opportunity for 
retiring from the room. 

John talks away more affectionately than ever, and 
Violet receives it with pleasure. They are by them- 
selves until dinner time. John and Violet are in- 
vited out to dine, and Agnes, to play one of her jokes, 
has arranged to seat John and A^iolet together, while 
Mrs. Arno and Mrs. Payne are seated at the head of 
the table, and Agnes sits opposite to John and Violet. 
The viands are served, aiid all are cheerful. Agnes 
now and then takes a look at the young couple, as if 
to say, "How pretty you are! You resemble two 
young doves on the 14th of February.^' All this is 
flitting through her mind, and John and Violet can 
read it all, but it only adds beauty to the occasion. 
All this cunning mischief seems to be good morals, for 
it is a part of human nature, and Agnes has more 
than her share of such fun. 

When dinner is over they repair to the parlor, and 
Agnes excuses herself to assist in clearing the table 
and to w^ash the dishes. Now, the two old people 
seem to have strange feelings coming over them, but 
neither speaks to the other about it. They think 
Providence has thrown these two people together, but 
do not dream as to how it will terminate. 

While they are left alone the spark of love shines 
out brighter and brighter. John desires to be manly, 
and thinks some favorite scene of hers of which he 



32 



INDIANA. 



has learned would be the best place to ask her hand, 
and where they can be all alone. You have possibly 
learned that the pulse beats at low tide just at such 
times when true love is bursting the anticipating 
heart. So John asks her to take a walk, and she ac- 
cepts, and they go down to the great bridge and walk 




THE BRIDGE ENGAGEMENT. 



out to the middle of it, where they pause and look at 
the waters running beneath, a living stream, where it 
teems with great schools of fish, and now and then 
one jumps up out of the water and then drops back 
into the river. Here the shrubbery which lines the 



LOVE AMOxNG THE T»iISTLET<3E. 



banks of the stream is a living eciio of birds \vari)iing 
their sweetest songs. It seems to John tiiat they 
know his feelings and are singing songs oi <jheer. So 
in this favored siDot he tells her that it is a long lane 
that has no turn — meaning his course in life — and 
that he is thinking of a change. He then asks her if 
she would be willing to join him on life's billowy 
wave. She responds, cheerfully: ''With pleasure.^' 
He then raised her left hand and placed upon the ring 
finger a ring, signifying love without end. He then said: 

"Violet, you see that we are standing on this bridge 
which connects these two great bodies of land above 
these living waters. So this tie which we have been 
contracting must plight our hopes forever, bridging 
over the great chasm where rolls life's raging river." 

Violet then said: "If storms do come, we know 
that barmony binds worlds together.^' 

Then they return to the house in settled mind. 
They seek the presence of the two mothers, where 
John says: 

"Mrs. Payne, I desire your daughter's hand in m.ar- 
riage." 

She is somewhat surprised, but says: "If it pleases 
you." 

John turns to his mother and says: 

"Mother, I have not consulted you, but I know you 
have always desired me to be happy, and I know you 
could not object to my betrothal to Violet." 



B^ INDIANA; 



"Mv son, 1 had desired you to marry a lady of 
■srealth, but beauty is much more desirable with a con- 
tented mind than treasures of gold. So, my son, you 
have done well." 

The two families are united. They talk over the 
wedding day and other arrangements, and agree to 
marry at the Arno home, for it is large and com- 
modious. They speak of the bridesmaids, and Violet 
selects Agnes as one, and John is at a loss to know 
who to select as a groomsman; so Violet asks how 
Cecil, her old lover, would do. John consents to him 
if he will accept of the duty. But she is in a quan- 
dary as to how he will receive her engagement to 
John, but, however, she will try and see when all the 
arrangements are settled. 

The carriage is made ready, and Violet and her 
mother get ready to go home, and Agnes agrees to 
stay a few days longer. John escorts Violet and her 
mother to the carriage. They bid the folks good-bye 
and seat themselves in the carriage. John is going 
to take them, so as to make still further arrangements.^ 
When they get ready to go Agnes again in her glee 
says, "Good-bye, pets," and then they start for home. 
They arrive at home about noon, and John puts up 
his horse until after dinner. He makes the proper 
arrangements, and they set the wedding day for the 
second Thursday in June, which would give -them 
two weeks to make ready. John returns home and 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. SG 

talks with Agnes about the arrangements which they 
had made, and requests her to assist Violet to get 
read}^, and she agrees to do so. 

Agnes gets ready to go home, and George is sent 
with her. They are to stop at Violet's on the way 
and see her about the arrangements with Cecil. He 
has been over on Sunday evening, and he sees the 
ring on Violet's finger, and concludes she is engaged. 
He does not ask her about it, but she, when an oppor- 
tunity otfers, tells him in what high esteem she al- 
ways held him, and could see no fault in him, but 
that she was engaged to another who she thought had 
greater personal charms, and that she still desired his 
friendship, and that if he would, it was agreeable to 
have him act as groomsman, by her request. He 
could not but feel honored, and thanked her, and 
agreed to her request. She tells him when the wed- 
ding will be, and he gets ready to go home, bidding 
her good night. He goes away with a light heart, 
but cannot think evil of Violet. 

On the next day George and Agnes arrive, and 
Violet sends John word about what she has done, and 
it is accepted. Agnes goes on home to prepare for 
the coming event. Violet is to wear a white silk 
dress, trimmed in lace, and John is to have a black 
Prince Albert suit, and the room is to be decorated 
with beautiful Southern flowers. Cecil is to bring 
Agnes, who is to be introduced to him by Violet, and 



36 INDIANA. 



John is to go for Violet himself. It takes a great deal 
of time to get ready, for there are a great many friends 
expected, and ample accommodations must be fur- 
nished for all. 

When the day arrives, the guests have all been in- 
vited, and they gather in at the Arno castle to witness 
the ceremony. The minister is there, and yonder 
on the hill are two carriages. In the front 
one are John and Violet and her mother, and 
behind are Cecil and Agnes. When they arrive they 
are introduced to the assemblage, and the people 
vie with each other as to which is the most beautiful 
couple. 

When all is ready they take their places under the 
large flower arch, John and Cecil on the right, and 
Violet and Agnes on the left. Then the minister 
steps forward and says the marriage ceremony in a 
sweet, audible tone. When the ceremony is over, the 
people pass around and congratulate the young 
couple, and wish them a happy life, and the marriage 
presents are presented to them. Cecil has been as 
cheerful as anyone, and jestingly remarked: "I wish 
it were Agnes and I." Then that wit of Agnes's 
again flashed forth: "May it be so." But nothing 
more was thought of it. John and Violet are to 
occupy the old homestead and see to the estate. The 
guests return to their homes, speculating on the affair 
as to the two beautiful couples. Cecil takes Agnes 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 37 

home and leaves an engagement, for she really is fond 
of him. 

John is now happy with Violet, and wishes to see 
others happy also. They get Mrs. Payne to agree to 
live with them, and John sets about improving the 
estate. There is a great deal more to be done than 
either John or Violet expected, as they have had little 
experience in self-sustainance; but they get along very 
well, for they have studied each others nature and 
know full well how to bear and forbear. 

Violet is anxious to hear from Agnes and know how 
she is getting along, so she writes her a letter, telling 
her how she likes her new home, and how pleasant it 
is to have a home of her own and to be interested in 
their own welfare. She likes John's mother very 
much, for she is a grand old lady, so friendly and 
sociable. Violet's mother also likes her new home, 
but cannot forget where she has lived for so many 
years. She closes by thanking her for past favors. 

Agnes is glad to receive this letter from her cousin, 
and to know that she is so well pleased, and that 
everything is agreeable to her. Agnes relates that 
her trip with Cecil was very pleasant, and that he 
held no envy toward her, and that he considered it 
an honor to be present at her marriage. Fay missed 
her friend very much, as they were together a great 
deal, and were nearly like sisters. She also relates 
that Cecil made an engagement with h^^» and that 



38 INDIANA. 



she had formed a good opinion of him, for he was so 
polite and manly. 

John has become more like his father, settled in 
his habits, and making large gains in his business. 
John's mother sees that he is successful, and she turns 
all the estate over to him. Violet is now mistress 
indeed, and shares in all things. She waits on John's 
mother with much care, for she is getting very feeble, 
and she tries to make her last days her best ones. 

Cecil has been to see Agnes, and spent a social 
evening with 'her. That natural wit makes a cheer- 
ful atmosphere to move in, and Cecil found that out 
at the wedding of John and Violet, when his jest was 
answered so appropriately. Now, x\gnes is not a lady 
to trifle with one's affections, and then jilt them. She 
is only a natural humorist, and the flash words ripple 
off her tongue like water over a pebbly ledge, and are 
in harmony with the associability of the company. 
Cecil thinks himself a conquerer to be able to asso- 
ciate with her. His own turn is in that direction — 
great in the art of entertaining; never 'at a loss for 
something to say, and speaks according to ethics. In 
some this is acquired; in others natural, and is more 
affable. These tAvain are natural. 

Cecil visits Fay, because she has been so kind to 
him, and she tells him how lonesome she has been 
since Aaolet has been married and gone. He relates 
to be** his acquaintance with Agnes Percy, and asks 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 39 

her to become acquainted with her, and lie calls Agnes 
his "funny girl." 

Xow, Violet was of a still reflective nature, and so 
was John Arno. Cecil says he is going over on Sun- 
day afternoon, and asks Fay to go along, and that he 
will introduce her to Agnes. When the day comes Fay 
is ready and goes with him. Agnes sees them coming 
and says to herself, "You'll lose your sweetheart, 
Cecil." But not so. He explains all to her, and she 
is more than pleased that he brought her. The day 
is spent in pleasure, and Agnes is queen of the party. 
It is a high-spirited company, and Cecil thinks the 
flowers are heightened and more beautiful, and that 
he himself has more dignity when in her presence 
When the day is spent, Cecil leaves a future engage- 
ment and bids Agnes good-bye, and the two ladies do 
likewise, and Agnes asks Fay to call again. They 
are soon on the road home, and conversing on the 
events of the day and the pleasures which they had 
enjoyed. Fay says: "Cecil, x\gnes is a prize, deli- 
cate and handsome." Cecil is aware of this, and has 
his cap set to win her, but does not let it be known, 
and brings everything to bear in that direction. He 
knows that she is a cousin of John Arno's, and had 
lent her influence to him with Violet. But what of 
that? She had a right to; and Agnes knows by Violet 
all of Cecil's surroundings, although not acquainted 
at that time. 



40 INDIANA. 



Cecil is buoyed on by her graceful manners, and 
their frequent meetings ripen into real love. There 
may be love at first sight, but it requires time to dis- 
cover the real and natural outpourings of the heart, 
such as would cause one to cling to another until 
death would separate them. 

Cecil and Agnes make arrangements to pay John 
and Violet a visit at their new home, and see the 
beautiful resort, and have a pleasure trip. They are 
surprised at the castle to see Agnes and Cecil. They 
did not know they were such good friends, but were 
glad to see them. Jolm treats Cecil with great re- 
spect, which only served to closer attach them as 
friends. Violet treats Agnes very hospitably, show- 
ing her much courtesy, and remarked: 

"Who's pets now?" 

"Not I," said Agnes; "we're lovers. Are you?" 

"Excuse me then, Agnes." 

"Certainly, you're excusable." 

All this was pleasing conversation between these 
fast friends. They all take a ramble along the river, 
and enjoy it very much. Then Cecil and Agnes re- 
turn home, pleased with their trip, and leave John 
and Violet to conjecture about them and the outcome 
of the future. 

Their courtship ripens into still closer affectfons, 
and Cecil is thinking of asking Agnes for her hand 
and heart. He knows how lively she is, and he is a 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 



41 



little delicate about the way he will do that. It is 
some worry to him, and he knows how cute and cun- 
ning she is, and if not accepted she might reply in a 
stinging way which would let him down heavy; but 
then he knows she never tells secrets, and that no one 
will know what is said. He does not think she might 
accept in the same manner, but that would be all the 
more beautiful, and would be cherished as a remem- 
brance of the past, as all such things are but cheerful 
reflections. 

So the courtship ran. along without any more efl:ort 
of this kind, for it seemed to be a puzzling thing, and 
Cecil thought nature would provide a way, as it does 
in everything else, as sometimes thoughtless things 
are signs or omens of the soul and may be grasped as 
the truth. "And it may be that I may depend upon 
this," said Cecil. So he continues spending these 
social evenings. They walk up and down the road 
by Mrs. Fercy's, until it seems that everything is so 
familiar that it almost becomes part of their exist- 
ence. Cecil enjoys this, for he is somewhat of a nat- 
uralist and seeks for information, but he never loses 
his thoughts of Agnes. 

Mrs. Percy never troubles herself about her daugh- 
ter, only that she sees that she does not keep late 
hours at night, for she thinks that is detrimental to 
society, as well as bad manners. Cecil is pleased with 



42 INDIANA. 



this, as it has been a part of his culture to observe the 
rules of etiquette. 

As the time whiled by they are seated at the table 
looking at the ornaments and fancied treasures. It 
enters Cecil's mind that he will write a few words on 
a slip of paper which lays on the table near him. He 
does not deem it necessary to sharpen the pencil, for 
it is his" mental proclivities which are bothering him 
just now. So he takes the pencil and writes these 
words: 

"I love none other but you." 

Then he handed her the paper, and she read it 
with care; and then she reached for the pencil and 
just beneath it wrote: 

"And that I see.'' 

He then took the pencil and wrote just beneath: 
"I will to you be true." 

And then she wrote just beneath: 

"'And I to thee." 
Now, collecting these lines, they read as follows: 
"I love none other but you," 

"And that I see." 
"I will to you be true," 
"And I to thee." 

Xow, this was a beautiful verse, meaning a great 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 43 

deal, but Cecil wished to Le certain about its mean- 
ing. So he said to Agnes: 

*^'You are a poet. I desired truth, not poetry." 

"It expresses both/^ said. Agnes. 

And she then discussed poetry as presenting the 
true and the beautiful, and that it contained harmony 
of thought and harmony of purpose with a sweet, 
gentle rhythm, or else there was no poetry, and that 
it remained for the poets with the outpourings of the 
soul to multiply and magnify the beautiful of earth. 
Then he was satisfied that it expressed the feeling of 
her heart. And he then raised her left hand and 
placed thereon the emblem of their hearts. 

Mrs. Percy is consulted, and her consent is ob- 
tained; then all is well with Cecil, and they set about 
appointing a day and a place for the nuptials. They 
settle as to what they will wear, and leave the day 
and place for a future time. They think it would be 
nice if they could be joined in wedlock at the Arno 
castle, and agree to ask John and Violet if it can take 
place there. Agnes is to write to them about the 
matter, and find out and let Cecil know in time to 
make the required arrangements. So Agnes writes 
them about it. It is a surprise to them, but it is 
agreeable. They are pleased to know that Cecil and 
Agnes would select their home for the wedding. They 
answer Agnes's letter, and tell her how surprised they 
are, and that she and Cecil will be welcome to any- 



44 INDIANA. 



thing which they can do for them. Agnes conveys 
this gratifying news to Cecil, who then goes to see 
John, and tells him what he would like to have. John 
receives him kindly, and arranges the same room for 
the coming event that he had arranged for himself. 
Cecil and Agnes will make all the other arrange- 
ments and write to the iVinos about it and tell them 
the time set for the wedding. John and Violet take 
great pains to decorate the rooms beautifully with 
flowers and ornaments, and make a large arch of 
flowers under which they are to stand. Cecil has 
many friends, and all are invited and welcome. 

The day set for the marriage is a beautiful one, 
and great preparation has been made by Cecil. The 
pike leading away from the castle is lined with all 
kinds of vehicles. At the appointed hour all is in 
readiness, and Cecil and Agnes are coming in a coach, 
followed by throngs of people. They arrive and lead 
the way to the house over the gravel walk which lies 
between two rows of beautiful flower beds, which lend 
their sweetness for their happiness. They are ush- 
ered into the room prepared for them, and they take 
the place assigned to them amidst throngs of people, 
and the bridesmaids and groomsmen assume their 
duties. AVhen the parties are all ready the minister 
is brought in, and he advances quickly to his task of 
uniting them by the proper ceremony. The beauty 
of the occasion is when they are asked if they take 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 45 

each other to be husband and wife. The response 
was low, but it echoed through the room, which 
caused a solemnity to come over the guests. The 
couple was beautiful beyond description, and as the 
guests filed around to congratulate them, you could 
hear remarks of ^'beautifful," "grand," "most excel- 
lent." Violet had good taste for art, and had done 
her best in the arrangement of everything, and every- 
thing presented perfect harmony. Many gifts were 
brought for them, and the whole presented one grand 
appearance. John Arno had not forgotten the kind- 
ness of his cousin Agnes, and he presented to her 
$100 in gold, for which they thanked him very much. 
The company begin to separate for their homes; and 
how grand to watch them as they filed away down the 
pike and out of sight! Could Cecil and Agnes help 
but be happy wdien John and Violet had done -so much 
for them? They must be greater friends. The 
bride and groom are invited to spend the evening at 
the castle, and they accept. It is the starting of a 
new life for the young people, and they desired it to 
be indicative of their, future life. 

On the morrow they return to Mrs. Percy's and 
arrange to go to housekeeping. Cecil is a merchant 
at Queenstown, and does a good business. They 
take a short trip over to St. Louis and spend a few 
days in pleasure and sight-seeing. Then Cecil re- 
turns to his occupation and purchases a neat resi- 



46 INDIANA. 



dence, and goes to housekeeping. Never were his 
prospects brighter or his life more happy. Agnes is 
pleased with her new home, and thinks herself much 
exalted by being able to win the heart of such a man. 
Agnes soon becomes acquainted with city life, and 
likes it very well. Her winning ways and conversa- 
tion make her a great favorite in city society. Now 
Cecil goes about his business with more energy than 
ever, for his mind is free and he is contented. His 
trade increases, and he accumulates very fast. 

Violet writes to Agnes to come over and spend a 
few days with her. It has been some time since she 
has heard from her. So Agnes gets ready and drives 
over to see Violet, for she thinks from the tone of the 
letter she is wanted for some express purpose, and 
surely it was so, for she wanted to hear from her and 
know how she was getting along at Queenstown, for 
that was her old home, and she desired to know about 
the people and their relation to the world. It lis a 
nice trip for Agnes, and gives her a little recreation, 
relieving her mind from domestic cares. She relates 
the comings and goings of her old neighbors, which 
is a pleasant relation of circumstances, and that they 
have a nice residence on IMain street and have it well 
furnished. When she gets ready to return home 
AHolet asks her to come often, and that she will return 
the compliment. 

Agnes goes back to Queenstown pleased with her 



LOVE AMONG THE MISTLETOE. 47 

visit, and finds her husband glad to receive her, and 
he caresses her with the same kindness witli which he 
had always greeted her. Agnes is the same affection- 
ate lady, and her short visit only seemed to cement 
them more closely together. Cecil thought, as he 
pillowed his head upon her breast, what a boon it is to 
have harmony of affections, harmony of love, and the 
world move on as one harmonious whole. He, with 
his contented heart, cannot banish from his mind the 
oft-repeated w*ords that — 

"There are as good fish in the sea as was ever 
causrht out.^' 



48 INDIANA. 



BESSIE, THE BELLE OF ALAMO. 

Tn a quiet little village, 

Where sweet flowers bloom and grow. 
Roams the fairest of sweet maidens, 

Christened, the Belle of Alamo. 

Always read}^ with an answer, 

In a manner mild, but low. 
Just becoming of a lady 

Like the Belle of Alamo. 

You can see her at all places. 

Cheeks quite reddened to a glow, 

Modestly bowing to her lovers, 
Bessie, the Belle of Alamo. 

She is cheerful to a pleasure^ 
AVhere adversities come and go. 

Knowing nothing but such kindness 
Becoming the Belle of Alamo. 

She never flirts with transient people, 
Xeither hangs on the gate for show. 

But allures by charms so graceful, 
Bessie, the Belle of Alamo. 



SCENES IN SCHOOL. 49 



You may know her hy her beauty, 
Silver tresses hanging low, 

Plump in form and mincely stepping, 
This lady, Belle of Alamo. 

If you desire to acquaint this lady, 
Watch the lasses where e'er you go; 

The mind creates this living beauty, 
Bessie, the Belle of Alamo. 



SCENES m SCHOOL. 

As I sat in the halls of learning, 

I cast at the pupils a glare; 
Some seemed eager for learning, 

And others were dead to despair; 
Some prying over books to gain knowledge, 

And others whose minds are flying around, 
like the wind on the beautiful prairies, 

Carrying vibrations and emotions of sound 

Some appear to be created a genius, 

And the world oveiflows with their care, 
"While others are debauching their wisdom. 

And lay like a beast in his lair. 
But for those who study books carefully 

Ave treasures of shining bright gold, 
And to those who lounge about idly 

Have ignorance obstructing the soul. 



50 INDIANA. 



A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF A COURT ELECTION 
SCENE. 

The great judge sat in his easy chair. 

Deciding all laws points legally fair, 

Ruling out this and allowing that, 

AVhile counsel were playing at tit for tat; 

They addressed the court: "May your honor please," 

And some one arose and swayed the breeze. 

"I'll state the case," the plaintiff said. 
Then from a paper he l)oth spoke and read, 
And when there came a little lull, 
Defendants were up to plead in full. 
And talked at length around about 
As to how they thought it would turn out. 

The temple of justice was filled to the wall 

With shrewd politicians with brass and gall; 

There was Tom from the village, Jack from the liills, 

And Doc from the office of bottles and squills; 

A more motley crowd w^as never arrayed, 

And tactics of schemers were readily displayed. 

At every fence-corner and nook in the street 
William was intercepted l)y their wonderful cheek 
To hold up the ghost of the shadow of wood, 
W^hich seemed to the defendants to be mighty good; 
There was the whisky-dispenser and man with a jag, 
And ward politician, the fox for to bag. 



A bird's eye view of a court election scene. 51 

There were aLle attorneys to keep up the fight, 
And men who believed in buying outright 
A magnetic person that gave no alarm, 
A descendant of Adam and boss of a farm, 
'Twas said "distributing of dollars in silver at will 
To give the old eagle a stamp on the bill." 

By all of this rubbish it does now prevail 
The rooster was stamped right under the tail, 
Except by some persons that plaintiff did meet 
In mossy apparel and rags on their feet — 
And the poet came in for a share of abuse 
By one who had on the head of a goose. 

Some men were drowning and grabbing at straws. 

Asserting that this and that were the laws, 

And drinking of water and striding afar, 

Which sounded like the rattle of a trolley street-car; 

And this is the way the law mill rolls 

When merchandise is made of human souls. 

'Tis this w^oeful shape our country is in. 
By talking of tariff and using of tin, 
Bordering right closely to darkest Kome, 
When people were driven, like a dog with a bone, 
By patricians who ruled and wielded all power 
And caused the plebeians to yield and to cower. 



52 INDIANA. 



SIMILE OF GOLD AND SILVER, BY MAID 
AND MAN. 

Man: 1 reign supreme upon the earth, 
'Twas given me by right of birth 
That I shoukl be the standard power, 
And all beneath should yield their dower. 

Maid: Poor thing, what would you be 

If you could not compare with me 

Your fanciful exalted form. 

For which you say that you were born? 

Man: I know alone I stood at first, 

?No power to replenish sacred earth; 

No one to keep me company, 

To save my schemes from eternity. 

Maid: T thought you'd see that to the strong 
A helpmate most surely does belong, 
Partaking of the self -same right, 
Stamped by the ancient original fiat. 

Man: But is there no distinction, none, 
To this the first-created one: 
Who first set foot upon this sward, 
The im_age of the eternal Lord? 

Maid: No, there's no distinction, not a bit. 
So says the sacred holy writ; 
The covenant says they two are twain 
From antiquity to end of reign. 



SIMILE OF GOLD AND SILVER, BY MAID AND MAN. o3 

^lan: There's no escape from this combination 

thread 
Upon which is based the goddess of liberty's 

head, 
That in the balance they lie side by side, 
To stay the wheels of the flowing tide. 

Maid: Whose issue is this to be, 

Circulating from sea to sea? 

Is it not based upon these two, 

Which carries 'this co-ordination through? 

]\Ian: I must acknowledge that in the end 
That each the other's rights defend; 
And this is surely the very goal 
Upon whose issue rests the whole. 

Maid : So parity is an idle thought 

As compared to things which God hath 

wr/)ught; 
No more w^e'll hear of co-operative money 

at par, 
But the rattling wheels of the commercial car. 

Man: This offspring jointly we must bear, 

Chased around the w^orld to the teller's bar; 
It seems to me to the pageant this is fair 
To adjust this wheel of fortune right with 

care; 
Or in other words, I trow, would be the plan. 
To adjust it equal, like maid and man. 



54 INDIANA. 



THE AVRECKED TRAIN. 

We boarded the train on the Northern Pacific, 
The mountain scenery was grand and prolific, 
To make a throng'h trip to the end of the line, 
x\lthough in December the weather was fine; 
The passengers were quite cheerful and laughing 
As the wheels on the rails to powder were chaffing. 

It was a gala day in old Vancouver's Isle, 

All faces aglow with a pleasant smile. 

When all are on board a whistle to start, 

And soon dearest friends are distant apart; 

We passed through the valley and saw the white plain, 

Our engine did rally through snow and through rain. 

We're approaching the mountain and see the white 

dome, 
There's a beautiful fountain runs down thro' the bone. 
On nearing the summit there's a whistle for brakes. 
As she starts like a plummet and everything shakes, 
To pass over the canyon and down the east slope, 
The passengers are crying, God, the trestle's broke! 

The coaches are falling and swinging in air, 
The passengers are wringing their hands in despair; 
But the engine is pulling with all of her might 
While the coaches are swinging, heaven, such a sight ! 
The coupling is holding the cars like a leech. 
Suspended in air like a kite on the beach. 



THE WRECKED TRAIN. 55 

Two coaches are swinging in the chasm below, 

And with the sway of the wind they move to and fro. 

While the train hands are scaffolding the people to 

save 
From a horrible death which ends in the grave, 
The conductor looked out and loudly did call: 
"Oh, hurry up, boys, I fear she will fall; 

Go bring on the timbers and lay them across," 

And most of the time we worked at a loss; 

Our eyes on the coaches that's swinging o'er head. 

Our veins are all swollen and faces are red; 

We heave up the timbers without scaifold or sweep 

Until the rude structure the danger line meets. 

When we climb to the coaches with chisel and sledge 

And beat on the doors like beating a wedge, 

The door is broken open, we see them fall out 

As if they were half dead and moping about; 

But no one is hurt, not even a scar 

Is left on their foreheads to show they fell far. 

When the cars are all empty we sever their ties, 
She's dashed into pieces, in splinters she lies; 
Then the train moved forward to a place in the road 
To receive the bold rescuers and unfortunate load. 
There's a signal for starting, the smoke's rolling high, 
We're again on our journey. Old trestle, good-bye! 



56 INDIANA. 



ALAMO. 

When I was young and full of glee, 

And apt to wander around 

Like many a boy I wanted-^ see 

A little countr}^ town. 

And to 'a place I longed to go 

Whose name was christened Alamo. 

ItVas a place to me quite rare. 
On going with my father there, 
As oft as I coukl plead with him 
To please and let me go again. 
And thus, you sec, I learned to know 
The road which led to Alamo. 

x\nd then I became an errand boy. 
Buying things, which was great joy, 
Coming forth Avith home again, 
Better than the grown-up men. 
Which made my mind so richly glow 
With all the scenes in Alamo. 

So well I remember the graded school. 
Where often we did break the rules. 
And gave the teachers lots to do 
In dealing with their motley crew, 
To make us learn that we might show 
There were .crreat men in Alamo. 



ALAMO. 67 



There were three churches in the place, 
Where we might grow in knowledge and grace, 
And worship according to our will 
The God who gave us all our skill; 
And long we've wandered to and fro 
To behold the town of Alamo. 

Of a Sunday the bells did chime, 
Calling the children from every clime 
To come and learn a blessed thing 
Of our dear Savior's suffering, 
That we be ready when we go 
To leave in death dear Alamo. 

x\nd now we're grown to aged men. 
Scattered all over glade and glen; 
Some are lawyers, great and smart, 
Some are preachers to the heart, 
Some are teachers, not a few, 
Some are farmers, pure and true. 

And so you see how riches flow 
Through the portals of Alamo. 
xVnd in the cemetery, east of town. 
Many a classmate may be found 
Which has fallen by the grace of Him 
Who can pardon every sin; 



58 INDIANA. 



But He's called them when pure and right 
For to take their upward flight, 
To meet m heaven far above, 
Where all is pure and God is love. 
And so I hope that time may show 
We may all meet again from Alamo. 

THE GERM OR NUCLEUS OF ALAMO. 

Amidst forests and vines of a golden hue 

A mixed population co-mingled; 
They tugged and hauled their baggage through, 

And lived in huts board-shingled. 

A string and a latch was the bolt of the door, 
Which was made of oaken slab puncheon. 

While the earth or rude timbers served as a floor, 
And corn bread with dried venison made them a 
luncheon. 

But the woods disappeared before the strong arms, 
As the strokes of the axmen were falling, 

And thus there appeared these beautiful farms, 
An honor to those of their calling. 

But they needed a town where they could go 
And buy of those things mostly needed, 

So Samuel Truax and William Boice christened our 
Alamo, 
A beautiful place, now conceded. 



THE GERM OR NUCLEUS OF ALAMO. 



-50 



In honor of Davy Crockett our town was so named, 
AVho poured out his life's Llood when old and quite 
hoary; 

As a gallant swordsman he'll always be famed; 
Like all of our heroes, he stood for Old Glory. 






GERM OR NUCLEUS OF ALAMO. 



A school house was built of chinken and logs, 
Where pedagogues stalked, beat and pounded; 

Xo studjang nature or peat of the bogs. 

But the old rule of three must be expounded. 



60 INDIANA. 



Those days are all o'er of fireside lore. 

And tales of escapes bold and daring; 
Those primeval times will be never more, 

Xor the bright shining light of the clearing. 

A new epoch has come with learning and art, 

With this strnctnre of wisdom, fine, large and hand- 
some: 

Jt is the souFs pride of every pure lieart, 
For learning is free without ransom. 

The old pedagogue, with his rod and his rule, 
Is a thing of the past forever and ever; 

An up-to-date Prof, will fill our new school. 

Teaching wisdom and languages stylish and clever. 

But the quaint old bell in its new tower exists — 

Its peals are loud and sonorous; 
It breaks the sad heart of some pessimists. 

But joyful is the youth now before us. 

The poor wooden structure, with windows of gauze, 

Is displaced by new ones of glass; 
To enlighten the children has been the whole cause, 

And the door-latch of wood is now brass. 

The entering steps, where oft children played, 

Are now made of long slabs of stone; 
It isn't the place where we loitered and stayed 

When dismissed from our school to go home. 



THE CRICKET. 61 



And the chopping of wood hy the elderly boys 

To keep out the cold, chilly air, 
Ts now done away in comfort and joys 

Tn an edifice all heated with care. 

But great men have arisen e'en all of this. 
And have filled many places of trust, 

And more of like calling will not go amiss 
Tf they but brighten and polish the rust. 

lict us cherish the good and enlighten the soul. 
And build up a place famed for its grandeur; 

There is no other way of attaining the goal 
In that hoped-for beyond in its splendor. 



THE CRICKET. 

Under every bark and litter 
You can hear the little critter 
All tlie dark night long, 
Singing his busy song — 

K-e-r-t! K-e-r-t! 

In the musty w^beat shock, 
And under every little rock, 
The silence is invariably broken 
By the notes that are spoken — 

K-e-r-t ! K-e-r-t ! 



62 INDIANA. 



In the mouldering clothes case 
And the old-fashioned fireplace, 
You can hear his little notes 
As from his lips it floats — 

K-e-r-t! K-e-r-t! 

All among your Sunday clothes 
You will find his dainty nose, 
Looking where to take his toll. 
And now and then he makes a hole. 

K-e-r-t! K-e-r-t! 

In among the apples mellow 
You will find this noisy fellow, 
As he bites the apple peel 
For to make his dainty meal — 

K-e-r-t! K-e-r-t! 

All among the logs and moss 
You can hear the little boss, 
And everything where e'er you pass. 
Even in the dewy grass — 

K-e-r-t! K-e-r-t! 

HEROES OF SANTIAGO DE CUBA. 

Sampson's fleet stood out at sea, 

Guarding Santiago bay. 
The Stars and Stripes waved o'er it free, 

While Cervera hidden lay. 



HEROES OP SANTIAGO DE CUBA. 63 

To catch the Spanish in a trap 
Was planned by Hobson's l)raves; 

The jMerrimac was chose for that — 
She plowed the billowy waves. 

With seven seamen she sped in port. 

To quaint old Morro's walls; 
The Dons stood silent in the fort, 

Aghast at the captain's calls. 

They faced the cliot and shell on shore. 

And reached the place designed, 
Amidst the cannons' deafening roar 

And subterranean mines. 

The ensign o'er the collier's deck 
Said, "Liberty, ye Cuban braves!" 

When purposely the ship was wrecked, 
x\nd the world looked on amazed. 

Oh! our heroes, where are they 

That took the hazard risk? 
We see them through the darkened spray. 

Hurrah! hurrah! to shore they drift. 

The Spanish captors are near to them, 

A shout of deafening roar; 
Hispani ne'er has seen such men 

Since Horatius, long before. 



64 INDIANA. 



The thing is done. Cervera's fate 

Will tell Alphonso's woe. 
"While Sampson holds the bottled fleet, 

Our Miles will charge the foe. 

The end is near, and Spanish reign, 
With blood and stench and crime, 

AVill be avenged for the battle Maine 
Forever and all time. 



INDIANA. 

On the plains of Indiana, 

Where the wild flowers gently wave, 
There the farmers in their splendor 

Do the golden cereals raise. 
There is lands of various dimensions, 

From the valleys to the hills, 
Many streams that are rippling, 

Near by which we build our mills. 

We have prairies, we have woodlands. 

Richest treasures ever stored; 
And far down in the interior 

Natural gas we have in hoard — 
Quite enough to run our factories 

Just as long as wheels may roll, 
And as you are nearing Anderson, 

There's the richest of the goal. 



SHOE COBBLER. 65 



Through the center runs the Wabash, 

With its rich alluvial soil; 
From its source unto its ending 

Many sturdy farmers toil, 
Not alone with bone and sinew. 

But a little more at ease, 
Like unto our honored statesman, 

A\'hose giant speeches always please. 

This is not all that I can tell you: 

We're the gateway to the West, 
And must be crossed by many tourists 

Hunting places where to rest 
From the cares and toils of business. 

Which they've followed many a year, 
Storing up a little fortune 

For old a2:e and later cares. 



SHOE COBBLER. 

The cobbler sits on his leather stool. 
And thongs the best he can; 

He blows his horn and turns about. 
And chafes the end of man. 

He is a perfect weather-cock. 
And can tell the wind and time; 

He pounds away on flattening-rock. 
And spends his force of mind. 



66 INDIANA. 



He sits amidst old rancid shoes — 

A splendid scent and savor; 
^Twould give an epicure the blues 

To smell this foot-made flavor. 

AVhen his race is run and he is done 

A-mending of old soles, 
He's laid away for another day — 

A subject for the ghouls. 

THE SOUL. 

The soul is immortal, we cannot tell why, 
Unless it has come from God in the sky. 
In death it is separated from this body of ours. 
To go to its keeper in a mansion of towers, 
AVhere all on a level will soar without wings, 
To dwell in a city — a kingdom of kings. 
The wheat is separated away from the chaff. 
While the wicked are left to mock and quaff. 

We images will be in our bodily form. 
Preserving identity, although newly bom. 
The power of communion invested in we. 
Conversing with brothers we've longed to see. 
We'll meet those old martyrs, gone long before 
To dwell with their Savior, and open the door 
For the sheep of the shepherd who have striven in vain 
To reach those green pastures where purity reigns. 



THE SHADES. 67 



A description of heaven was given to thee 
By St. John on the Patmos, an isle of the sea. 
He saw the rich treasures and emerald stone, 
The mantling rohes around the great throne, 
With Christ there ascended his people to descry. 
Discerning their actions, to judge by and by. 



THE SHADES. 

Oh! come to the Shades, ye wandering tourists. 

There beautiful scenery your eyes to behold. 
From its beautiful waters, its green-growing shrub'ry, 

To its rock-bound clifts which enlighten the soul. 
Oh! come to me now, while my buds are all bursting, 

Their sweet-smelling odor with the air to diffuse; 
I'll fill your hearts gladly with all that grows wildly — 

The old and the young I readily amuse. 

Come to me, ye loved ones, whose minds are all bur- 
dened 

With the cares of a life's oppressions and toils. 
And I'll give you a field of fun and of pleasure 

To banish your minds from remorse and from broils. 
I am glowing with verdure from valley to summit, 

Whose blossoms of beauty are growing all wild. 
Which calls back the aged one from the time of their 
manhood 

To their earlier days, when they were a child. 



INDIANA. 



I'm a place for those people whose banks have made 
failures. 

And want to get away from the cares of their home; 
They can bring out their lasses and fish for the basses, 

And promenade proudly the Devil's Backbone. 




THE SHADES. 



This great massive structure is nature's own handwork 
Two high solid walls, sixty feet in mid-air, 

Four feet in its thickness, connecting two ridges — 
There's nothing so grand that we can compare. 



JUGGING BUMBLEBEES. 69 

The fowls of the licavens make nests in the burrows, 

Which God has ordained, the rocks being loose; 
The pine and the spruce, looking down on the billows, 

Has given its name: the old Buzzard Roost. 
A lady once fell from this high-towering precipice — 

Her mind seemed to float with the calm gentle breeze ; 
She toppled right over, as if to destruction, 

And was barely saved by the boughs of some tre.s. 

^ear the mouth of Little Ranty is picturesque falls. 

The most beautiful of all cascades; 
An old-time stair leads up the great walls. 

As you pass through the flume to the Shades 
The waters are scattered in fan-like rays, 

As they strand o'er the round-like dome. 
And dashing down in silver spray, 

They rush on in billows of foam. 



JUGGING BUMBLEBEES. 

Little Clarence went to the meadow 

To play on the new-mown hay. 
Where a bumblebee got after him 

And run him clear away. 
He told his mamma about the bees 

And all tiiat they had done. 
Then hunted up a w^ater jug 

And said he'd have some fun. 



70 INDIANA. 



Tie filled it partly with water, 

It made a roaring sound. 
Then i:>laced the jug quite near the nest 

When none of them were 'round. 
He then procured a little stick 

And gave the ground a thug: 
They all came out and flew around 

And sailed right in the jug. 

When they were in the water deep 

And drowned, which seemed quite funny. 
He hunted up the little nest 

And took their bread and honey. 
Thus we see by cunning device 

We can such things entwine, 
But yet it seems so very nice 

To treat them so unkind; 
For we do dread their mighty sting. 

It appears so very sharp, 
And hurts much worse than anything — 

It pierces to our heart. 

Come all you boys and learn of me. 
And you can have some j)leasure: 

AVhen you have nothing else to do 
But spend your time at leisure, 

And get a jug with water in, 

Which makes a noise like singing, 



WORKINGS OF BEES. 71 

And you can take the bees right in 

Without the fear of stinging; 
Then when you see the coast is clear. 

And they have gone to rest, 
You can come up without much fear 

And procure their cozy nest. 

WORKINGS OF BEES. 

Little bees are flying high — 
When the day is fair and dry 
Humming are his little wings. 
You can hear him as he sings, 
Carrying home his little sweets 
In his pouch or on his feet. 

On rich blossoms he does glide. 
Turning quick from side to side. 
Hunting for the sweetest cups, 
. Out of which he takes his sups. 
Until he has made his round, 
Then you see him homeward bound. 

In his hive you'll find his cells. 
Which are numerous honey wells. 
Flowing richly to the top 
In his luxurious honey crop, 
AYliich he's laid by with those wings 
To save his life until the spring. 



72 INDIANA. 



As soon as spring and it is warm, 
You can see them by the swarm 
Working hard for sixty days^ — 
The life of bees in working phase- 
But younger ones are coming on 
Lone: before the old are <?one. 



'ft 



In their hive you'll find a cup 
Shaped just like a hickory nut; 
In this place the old queen plays, 
And passing round the eggs she lays 
For the increasing of the bees 
When the old are at their ease. 



EAISING THE FLAG. 

Who will raise the grand old flag 

O'er a desolate Spanish realm, 
And life and liberty guarantee 

Where murder guides the helm? 
Why! the Union boys in blue 

A¥ill sacrifice the last drop of blood 
To the cause of liberty true — 

Will expel a tyrant lord. 

Who will set the reconcentradoes free 
From their shackles and iron bands, 

Where Columbus on his bended knee 
Prayed the God of Christian lands? 



RAISING THE FLAG. 73 

Why! the Union boys in blue, 

With the cross of Christ on high. 
Have heard of jiitiful slaves pierced through, 

And have rallied to the battle cry. 

Who will liberate the poor and oppressed, 

As they toil without food for the crown, 
Penniless, wan, emaciated, distressed, 

N"o bed for repose but the ground? 
Why! the Union boys in blue 

Will go like a hero to the strife, 
And strain every muscle anew 

For a nation that struggles for life. 

We come not like a conquering foe, 

For power and pelf and lands; 
But, innocent as the mountain roe. 

With amity and outstretched hands, 
Go build for yourselves a state. 

Let "Libre" be written to tell 
How ye fought with tyrant strong and great — 

How the enemy ye did expel. 

"Go free, dear Cuba," says the flag. 

As it waves o'er El Caney's crest. 
"You've trod the Spanish winepress in rags. 

But your oppressors have done gone to rest." 
"Go free," says the gallant Eough Eiders, 

As they sally away from the port, 
And are driving the renegade Spanish 

Inside of old Morro Fort. 



74 INDIANA. 



"Go free! dearest Isles of the Indies; 

For centuries you've been trodden down;, 
Cry Libre! Libre! Libre! 

You're forever free from a crown. 
Make for yourselves a government, 

While we guide, assist and protect; 
Place a star in the field of your emblem. 

That you meditate, think and reflect." 

Old Liberty Bell rung not in vain. 

Our Declaration says just what it means; 
AVe'll extend a blessing under oppression's reign 

To the ancient Isles of the Philippines. 
Go teach the Gospel in foreign lands, 

Give them a hope, a faith in Him; 
Extend God's grace, ye Christian bands: 

Teach them the power to pardon sin. 

Let us succor the innocent mongrel child — 

A noble spirit may dwell within; 
In their humble state in the jungles wild 

A nomadic tale their life has been. 
Their masters coveted only spoil — 

Xo builders of the inward man, 
But day by day incessant toil 

For Spanish friars — a Corsair clan. 

Think not of trade or commercial power. 
But hold the lives of a people dear; 

Go give to them a better dower, 
And of our freedom let them hear. 



CHILDISH GLEE. 75 



Oppress them not; be merciful and kind; 

Let them absorb our modern ways, 
Fntil they see, or some way find, 

Their change of life is better days. 



CHILDISH GLEE. 

They gambol in the sunshine. 
Through the woods and dells; 

As it's nearing noontime 
They're resting at the well. 

Gathering velvet mosses 
From the rocks and rills. 

Making pretty flosses, 
Scampering over hills. 

Strolling by the brooklets. 
Pebbles shining bright. 

There is joy in every nooklet. 
Gems like stars of night. 

Murmuring are the waters 

As they ripple down; 
Bark boats of tiny squatters 

Pass by from fairy town. 

Birds are singing sweetly 
Among the leafy trees; 

Everything is lovely, 

Sweet-scented is the breeze. 



76 



INDIANA 



They have ruddy little faces, 
Made so by the sun: 

Eunning and skipping races- 
Jolly childish fun. 




CHILDISH GLEE. 



There is music in the foliage, 
Tunes of nature's art, — 

Enlightening the little sages, 
And soothing the childish heart. 

Waves of sward like ocean, 

Nodding is the grain. 
Everything in motion. 

Dropping is the rain. 



A I JACK- WOODS SCHOOL. 



*Toad-stools are a-ticking 
Like our father's clock; 
Thorns for pins are sticking 
In the baby's frock. 

Mosses for the carpets, 
On the gronnd-made floor; 

Many colored leaflets 
Strewn about the door. 

Now mamma is calling, 
As they pluck a rose; 

Hear them all applauding. 
As the scene must close. 



A BACK-WOODS SCHOOL. 

The old-time school has had its knell. 

And all those noisy feet we used to quell. 

Turning slates and leaflng books, 

Full of mischief turns and crooks. 

You could see their faces flow 

"\Yith the mischief all aglow; 

Eyes on teacher, neyer fail 

For to think of water pail; 

And when the teacher's back was turned 

They would forget quite all they'd learned. 

'■■ By Toad-stools is meant Polyporus versicolor. It grows on decaying 
trees like a half moon, with a white face and a brown one, and looks 
like the face of a clock. Children use them as clocks. 



78 - INDIANA. 



Some threw wads across the room. 

And if the teacher turned too soon 

They studied lessons with a rush, 

Cheeks all reddened to a blush — 

Innocent, we knew full well, 

For ne'er a one the tale could tell. 

Then the case it rested so, 

For the proof fell far below; 

But the teacher assured them it would not do 

To repeat it, if he got a clew, 

Or he would punish to the law 

With a gad that's green and raw. 

ALONE m THE WOODS. 

As I sat beneath the azure sky, 

Tlie sun beamed warm and pleasant; 

There was not a rustle or a cry, 
But the whirring of the pheasant. 

The shady dells were like a dream 
Enchanted by the song-birds; 

A paradise it almost seemed, 

With pleasures passing by myriads. 

I felt myself in Fairy Land, 

With scarce the power of moving^ 

As happy as a seraph band 
Around the throne hallooing. 



YOUNTSVILLE. 79 



In these glens of sweetest music, 

What is life to you or me. 
But beholding of those pleasures 

One would fairly wish to see? 

Pictures of the living present. 

Fanciful beyond all art, 
Richest of all earthly treasures. 

Settled deep within our hearts. 

And as the sun is setting, going, 
Darker shades are drawing nigh; 

Then will come an electric showing. 
Mirrored on the western sky. 

Streamers of a golden twilight, 

Emblems of a dying day — 
Scenes which follow brightest sunshine. 

As its rays are drawn away. 



YOUXTSVILLE. 

On an eastern slope, where shines the sun, 

A village long time ago begun; 

A blacksmith shop, a grinding and woolen mill, 

Were Just beneath the little hill; 

But now a new impetus brings 

A graded school with drooping wings. 



80 INDIANA. 



With Finks and Snyders, O'Xeals, too, 
'Tis hard to tell you how it grew; 
But there has been no want of skill 
In the little hamlet of Yountsville, 
And every wave some intelligence brings 
From the belfry tower with drooping wings. 

The master builder was a man of power, 
He built an edifice with gilded tower, 
Immersed in wisdom deep at heart 
That learning to the soul embark; 
And to the children this building flings 
Good tidings from those drooping wings. 

This stately mansion is grand, indeed, 

'Tis gleaning chaff from among the weeds; 

It quickens life unto the soul. 

It is a boon in deepest goal 

And to its hall the urchin brings. 

Beneath the belfry with drooping wings. 

The bell peals out from its high-up perch, 
Excelling that of the village church. 
Calling the children to fall in line 
And learn a lesson of the Sacred Shrine. 
This, I tell you, is just the thing 
Which issues from those drooping wings„ 



A DESCRIPTION OF HISTORY. 81 



The Old Oaken Bucket is far .surpassed — 

We've piped the earth for deeper gas; 

This is a child of recent skill; 

No water wheel, no water mill, 

But steam that's gushing from iron rings. 

Is just beneath those drooping wings. 

Now, of these things I speak in praise — 
I do approve of modern ways. 
Train up your sons like stately men. 
To he an honor to all their ken; 
And of your town don't fail to sing, 
• And the grandeur of those drooping wings. 

A DESCRIPTION OF HISTORY. 

In the life of a nation, accounts must be kept. 
To enlighten a people coming after; 

If it wasn't for this events would have slept, ' 
And weakened our store of good treasure. 

But, luckily, man like a genius has been. 

In recording those things which were passing, 

Until we have pages from stylus and pen, 
With the manv events that's amassing-. 

On this river of time we have handed down 

All that is grand of a nation; 
We can now behold from clay tablets of old 

All Christendom clear down to creation. 



82 INDIANA. 



Our mind is like a vessel laden with fruit 

That grew over a far distant ocean^ 
But it is ripening now with each turn of the plow, 

Which quicken our pages in motion. 

In a picture of thought we see many things 

Which the chroniclers have penned for their glory; 

And we children of skill can read with a will 
The deeds of a people grown hoary. 

There's profit by those who have gone on before, 
And have mirrored their thoughts by the pages; 

It is better than gold or gems that are old, 
Which must shine out and glitter for ages. 



THE OLD SAWMILL. 

Toot! toot! toot! The time has come 
AA^hen sawmill labor has begun. 
Eoll on the log and dog it down, 
And turn the adjusting lever 'round; 
Turn on the steam and let her go: 
The dust is flying like the snow! 

Eeverse the lever, it will stop. 
And on a car the plank will drop. 
There is a man that's standing there 
To seize the planks and off-bear; 
They take them to the edging saw. 
And then you'll hear a buzzing yaw. 



ALCOHOL. 83 



The fireman gathers up the scraps, 

And in tlie fiery furnace slaps, 

The blaze goes curling through the flue; 

The saw is like a brilliant blue, 

And when the mill is running right 

The saw is clearly out of sight! 

Busy hands are at the mill, 
For every man has a place to fill; 
And if you stand and gaze around, 
A loosened bark will hit your crown, 
And on your nose or forehead lodge — 
And when too late you're sure to dodge. 

ALCOHOL. 

Alcohol is like a snake: 

It can't be kept in bounds; 
It makes of one a perfect wreck, 

A wandering vagrant hound. 

It steals away an active brain. 

And fills one with remorse. 
And causes people to go insane. 

Their soul is fill morose. 

In dread of those, we stand in awe. 

Who tipple at the wine; 
They all disgrace the moral laws — ■ 

Their m.anners are unkind. 



84 INDIANA. 



xMl sons and daughters should abhoT 

The actions of such loots — 
For this is what they make themselves 

When whisky's up their snoots. 

Of all the curses on the earth, 

This certainly is the worst; 
It brings to sadness and to gloom 

Our pleasures and our mirth. 

And he who drinks the fiery cnp 

Will come to saddest woes, 
For, as he takes each dainty sup, 

'Twill blossom on his nose. 

OVER THE HILLS TO THE SCHOOL HOUSE. 

Over the hills to the school house 

The teacher is plodding his way, 
To instruct those frolicsome urchins 

Who, like snowbirds, are busy at play. 

His duties are many and kindred 

To those of a parent at home — 
So loving, so gentle and child-like 

He must treat each pupil that comes. 

Their faces are shining with gladness 

To see the first sprinkle of snow; 
Then off with their wraps and sleigh-bobs 

To coast down the hill they will go. 



OVER THE HILLS TO THE SCHOOL HOUSE. 85 

When the sun is melting the snow-drifts, 
They'll he rolling it up with their hands, 

And shaping it into a rock cliff, 
Or making it into a man. 

Then they'll choose sides for a battle, 

The enemy a large heap of snow; 
They distance themselves from the target — 

One, two, make ready to throw! 

The mummy is shattered asunder. 
Sharp-shooters are trying their guns; 

N"ow the teacher is pulling the bell-rope. 
And away goes sweetcake and buns. 

They settle themselves in their places, 

And commence humming like numerous bees. 

Perusing their books to learn wisdom. 
All leafing and turning the leaves. 

Class number one has its lesson, 

And the master calls it on time; 
At a tap of the bell they are standing, 

And two taps, they are falling in line. 

"N"ow, Johnnie, you answer the question 

That I have propounded to you;" 
A similar routine in connection, 

And the day's recit^ations are through. 



86 INDIANA. 



Then they return to their threshold, 

Their prayers are quietly said, 
And now they are donning their nioht clothes, 

And mamma will put them to bed. 



CRAWFORDSVILLE, ALIAS ATHENE. 

The city of Crawford is a beautiful town, 
Where knowledge and learning doth abound, 

In the great theatrical arena; 
It is a place that has much fame. 
And transient people are gently tame 

When in the city of Athene. 

Our modern people have pluck and skill, 
They push right onward up the hill, 

Where natural science is gleamy; 
And yet they associate the whole 
And give to physics a perfect soul, 

These wily students of Athene. 

Commerce is pressing in every nook, 
The old landmarks they have forsook., 

And all that's dark and dreamy; 
Nothing assumes a haggard look. 
And life is like a sparkling brook 

In this bustling city of Athene. 



THE RED BIRD. 87 



We are marching onward with the tide, 
Around the world we swiftly glide, 

The future looks bright and Leam}^; 
The laggard is dropping out behind, 
Although their friends are true and kind 

In the ever-aspiring Athene. 

We cannot stay this business roll, 
While pressing onward to reach the goal 

In this philosophical arena; 
We are pushing on tow^ard the skies 
To meet the patriarchs, so wise — 

Our people of great Athene. 

The annals of time will tell our fate, 
And of our people growing great 

In our city with such vehemy;* 
Our fame is laureled in ev'ry clime, 
And history impressed on the wings of time, 

Of our people of great Athene. 



THE EED BIRD. 

The red bird sat upon a tree. 
And sang to me, and sang to me. 
The sweetness of his voice did float 
From the airy waves of his little throat. 

*This word is coined from vehemence. 



88 



INDIANA. 



The tune that he sang pierced to my heart. 

Exciting a love that ne'er will part 

For the little singer so full of glee 

And the melodious notes from the old elm tree. 




THE RED BIRD. 



But still it seemed that he would not tire, 
As he mounted up still higher and higlier, 
And warbled a lay I ne'er have heard 
From the sweetest voice of a singing bird. 



soldiers' monument. ^9 

The morning came, and soon was spent; 

The sun to the topmost sky had sent 

His brilliant rays to light the earth 

And the beautiful morning which it gave birth. 

His glee extended to the hour of eight, 
AVhen the time of feeding was getting late, 
And the young ones croaked for a dainty meal, 
A worm or a bug from the new-plowed field. 

Then the mock-bird thought he'd imitate. 
But fell far short in his self-conceit. 
His dress apparel weren't near so red, 
And the whitting song was atale and dead. 

But yet, as eager as pride could be, 
He sang away with his rhythm, to-ree! 
Until the flowers with shame did blush. 
Which caused his mimicry soon to hush. 

But on went the warbler with lay so sweet. 
That it savored the morsels the little ones eat. 
And taught them a lesson which all should know: 
That the way to be happy is to try to be so. 

SOLDIEES' MOXOIEXT. 

Our soldiers fought and bled and died 
The Stars and Stripes to maintain; 

A monument will be their pride 
To speak aloud their fame. 



90 INDIANA. 



They left their wives and families dear 

To face the maddened foe; 
Some ne'er came back is very clear — 

Their bodies lie cold below. 

But in onr minds, so calm and bright, 

This pedestal stands aloft; 
It sheds a lustre of passing light — 

Their memories can't be lost. 

And to those children which are bereaved, 

This statue does proclaim, 
In honor of our country 

Their fathers have been slain. 

That we acknowledge their sacrifice, 

And must the deed repay. 
This is an emblem of our love, 

In honor of the fray. 

They chased the enemy on battlefields. 
Like chieftains would a knave. 

And to the people did reveal 
The grand old flag must wave. 

Their families dear are in our hearts, 

We all must care for them; 
The government has set apart 

Emoluments for the men. 



OFFICE SEEKING. 91 



But those wlio died in the battle's rage, 

Xo tithes can they receive 
But by an ensign for every age, 

Which speaks in lasting praise. 

And on its sides we must inscribe 
The grandest names of yore, 

So passing people may imbibe 
Their deeds forever more. 



OFFICE-SEEKING. 

The rush for office is quite free, 
And candidates are plenty; 

It's just because there's no money — 
Their pocket-books are empty. 

Uncle Sam has lured us so, 

In taking by taxation. 
From off the farm we're forced to go. 

We cannot make connection. 

A mortgage on a horse or cow 

Isn't worth the holding; 
How can a man support a frow 

Unless by office-holding? 

Our wheat is worth but sixty cents. 
And beef not worth a penny; 

This is the reason, in common sense. 
That candidates are many. 



92 INDIANA. 



CHILDHOOD m THE ORCHAED, 

Grand was the scene before us, 

With Junes and Ehode Ishmd green, 

Where fathers used to scold us 
For knocking the Summer Queens. 

That strij)ed fruit we cherished 

And gathered with a will, 
Our little bodies nourished, 

From fruits off of the hill. 

Here passed the best of childhood, 

Climbing in the trees; 
'Twas equal to the wikl-wood, 

With flowers and scented breeze. 

We long to be a child again. 

And live a hermit life. 
Away from all the cares of men. 

Where youthful pleasure's rife. 

Where childhood is a springtime, 

Eipening in the sun, 
Like the flowers of ages. 

And life is full of fun. 

Those precious golden moments, 
Spent in loving childish mirth, 

Is the sweetest of a lifetime, 

Gathering fruits from flowers of earth. 



THE HERO OF MANILA. 98 



Fruits we cannot carry with us, 
To a land of sweet repose; 

But by our fruits the people know us. 
As they know the sweetest rose. 



THE HERO OF MANILA. 

Of all the men that sail o'er the seas. 

And are standing for Old Glory, 
There's none so brave and at their ease 

As George Dewey, old and hoary. 
He has plowed the billows and the waves. 

Which ran 'most mountain high; 
His name is laureled with the braves. 

His fame — 'twill never die. 
Hoist all the flags and fire the guns, 

Our hero is not alone; 
Ring out, wild bells, your echoes tell 

George Dewey is coming home! 

A message flashed across the sea: 

^'Protect your native land!" 
He received it with such cheer and glee. 

And sailed for ^Manila strand. 
The Spanish guns along the way 

Belched forth a deafening roar; 
The admiral's words were calm that day. 

As down on the enemy he bore. 



94 INDIANA. 



Hoist all the flags and fire the guns, 

Our hero is not alone; 
Ring out, wild bells, your echoes tell 

George Dewey is coming home! 

He passed the entrance of the bay, 

O'er magazines and mines; 
Our seamen won in every fray. 

And beat them every time. 
Brave Dewey signalled from the deck 

To fire on the Spanish knaves, 
x4nd soon we saw their ships a-wreck, 

And floating on the waves. 
Hoist all the flags and fire the guns, 

Our hero is not alone; 
Eing out, wild bells, your echoes tell 

George Dewey is coming home! 

The work is done, the flag is raised 

Amidst the battle's cry; 
The boys in blue must all be praised— 

They mean to do or die. 
Manila is ours by right of war, 

We'll treat the people kind; 
This sheer oppression we abhor — 

Iso truer friend they'll find. 
Hoist all the flags and fire the guns, 

Our hero is not alone; 
Eing out, wild bells, your echoes tell 

George Dewey is coming home! 



THE SAVIOR. 95 



The victor starts out to retrace 

His course across the sea: 
A perfect type of the American race — 

A friend to you and me. 
He meets the kings along the route, 

And feasts with noble queens; 
We hear the guns and people shout, 

And martial music teems. 
Hoist all the flags and fire the guns, 

Our hero is not alone; 
Ring out, wild "bells, your echoes tell 

George Dewey has come home! 



THE SAVIOR. 

It was in good old Bethlehem, 
Where the fairest baby lay. 

In the rudest of a manger, 
On swaddling cloths and hay. 

'Twas on a lonely evening 

That the people's fate was sealed 

With u promise of redemption. 
And eternal life revealed. 

A star shone in the heavens 
Above where the Savior lay: 

A light to those in darkness 
To guide them on their way. 



96 INDIANA. 



And lo! the sheplierds saw it 
While attending to their sheep, 

And, rushing onward to it, 
They found the child asleep. 

The time was so exciting. 

And the kings were all beguiled. 

As they sought with such impatience 
The life of the infant child. 

But day by day he was growing 
In Ivnowledge and in grace: 

Ordained the soul-redeemer 
Of all the human race. 

When he reached his manhood, 

He perfected His plan, 
By dying on the cross-tree 

At the wicked hands of man. 

His soul ascended upward. 
And his body to the tomb; 

The day was clothed in darkness 
And the earth was all in gloom. 

He now is with the Father, 
And is sitting on the throne. 

Awaiting of the judgment 
To call His people home. 



THE EDITORS. 97 



THE EDITORS. 

The editors are a jolly lot, 

And yet they feel quite mellow; 

They fill their sheets with much that's not 
So pleasant to the other fellow. 

They talk at length, and to the point, 

And ahvays get so giddy 
You'd think their pen was out of joint. 

Like the tongue of an Irish biddy. 

And yet they feel as safe as mice 

Hid in some dusky barracks, 
Awaiting for to break the ice 

From some lucid son of Garrick's. 

Sometimes they meet upon the street 

Some lady filled with pride; 
We then do hear some shuffling feet 

And twirling of rawhide. 

Away they go up Lundy's lane. 

The editor much in the lead: 
The damsel followed by her train. 

Attached to her raging steed. 

Next issue then will be explained, 

And both be satisfied; 
The censure shows they both are blamed. 

And both have lost some pride. 



98 INDIANA. 



And thus they go from year to year. 

Exposing by the legions, 
And reaching out, both far and near, 

Through all the world and regions. 

ELECTION DAY. 

Election day is coming, with all that pomp can wield; 
Electors are protected by an artificial shield. 
Boodlers have defrauded this sacred trust of men, 
Until we have devised a plan with stall and chute for 

them; 
A die that stamps the chosen one, a juror in the box, 
TTiey there receive no emoluments, and cheat the sly 

old fox. 
By passing in behind the screen, away from longing eyes. 
And fixing out their ballots, concealed from those that 

buys. 
This ballot must be counted according to the mark 
That's placed thereon, without restraint, the symbol 

of their heart. 
Then hand the stamp to the polling clerk, the ticket 

to inspector, 
Go on your way rejoicing then, your conscience clear 

as nectar. 
Schemes and fraud are dormant now, the people have 

ascended; 
No more they'll milk the fatted cow, our rights are 

strongly blended. 



LITTLE DOG FRED. 99 



The milk will flow the other way, there's crystals in 

the butter; 
We are so glad we're free again, our hearts doth fairly 

flutter. 
The ship of state will still sail on, the sea is calm and 

easy; 
The schemers' cry is passing by, their mantle's dark 

and greasy. 

LITTLE DOa FRED. 

I have a :little dog whose name is Fred, 

He runs with me to play; 
He has four eyes within his head — 

Two bright, two dim were they. 

He has four feet that's colored tan. 

And he frolics on the hay; 
You'd think he was a little man — 

He walked upright to-day. 

I'll hold some food above his head. 

Poor fellow, he will speak; 
He always does so when he's fed, 

"When things are out his reach. 

He chases the rabbits in the woods. 

And the squirrels up the trees; 
He watches the chickens with their broods. 

And snaps the bumblebees. 



100 



INDIANA. 



He has a coat as black as jet. 
And teeth as white as snow; 

He is the very nicest pet 
That one can ever know. 



i 




3 





LITTLE DCG FRED. 



He carries sticks along the road, 
And trots along to school; 

The teacher never needs a goad. 
For he doesn't break the rules. 



A SNOWFLAKE. 101 



He scours the pastures for the cows, 
And does not fear to roam; 

He never stops his bow-wow-wows 
Until he brings them liome. 



A SNOWFLAKE. 

AVhenever a snowflake leaves the sky, 
It turns and turns around to sigh: 
"Good-bye, dear mother in vaulted blue. 
Some day again I'll come to you — 
Not in crystals frozen white. 
But in liquid prisms bright; 
Amidst fervent heat I'll take new wings, 
While gushing forth from bubblings springs. 

"My home is where the polar bear 
Hunts for the seal and ice's glare, 
And where the chubby Esquimau 
AVith dog and sled glides o'er the snow. 
By arctic winds I'm driven down 
To shroud the earth in winter's gown; 
I prowl around the cottage door, 
And seek the chinks and Brusseled floor. 

"And where the baby's snug -and warm, 
I steal around his little form; 
And yet I have a work to do 
To save the flowering bulbs for you. 



102 INDIANA. 



I clothe the earth, and keep it warm. 
And save these germs of earth from harm; 
And when the sunny spring has come, 
I to the widening rivers run. 

^When in this humid tropic clime 
I start again on the wings of time, 
Ascending in the balmy air, 
Until I reach a current where 
The Northern trades are passing nigh, 
And then again I say good-bye, 
Good-bye, dear flowers of the torrid zone, 
I'll go again to my native home." 

A HOENET'S NEST. 

The sentry stood out at the door, 
And winked and bustled around; 

He sallied in and told a score 
That an enemy he had found. 

I threw a stick at the hornet's nest, 
And one came buzzing by; 

I started to run my very best. 
But he caught me on the eye. 

I threw myself down on the ground. 
And rolled and writhed in pain; 

But no relief down there I found, 
For they darted and came again. 



THE CUNNING, COVETOUS JEW. 103 

So lip I got, and away I went, 

Surrounded by a swarm; 
And in that race I did repent 

I gave such wild alarms. 

I slapped my hands and scratched about. 

And did many things in vain; 
I pulled the deserted stingers out. 

And felt the smarting pain. 

I ne'er had been in such distress. 

But always will refrain 
From clubbing of a hornet's nest. 

Since I have felt such pain. 

Xow, all you boys who think it's fun 

To throw your shafts and darts, 
Had better prepare some place to run 

Before you make such starts. - 

THE CUNNIXG, COVETOUS JEW„ 

"Come in, my friend, and see my stock, 

My goods are nice and new; 
I've everything, from hat to frock," 

Said the cunning, covetous Jew. 
They're always hanging out in front 

To catch and lure you in; 
Xo matter if your speech is blunt, . 

They want the shining tin. 



104 INDIANA. 



"Try on this coat, it is all woo'i, 
And woven nice and new." 
And on the shoulder it is too full. 
But you know a cunning Jew. 
^^How do you like this suit of black, 
It's imported goods clear through?" 
And, grasping a handful in the back, 
Cried out: "It's shust a fit for you!" 

"You see it's lined with satin cloth. 
And sewed with silken thread," 
And to tell the truth 'twas eaten by moth, 
But, "'Tis excellent!" he said. 
"Now try this vest of latest style, 
It's bound all round before," 
And on the tag I see the while 
'Twas made in eighty-four. 

"Eight dollars is the price of it. 

And that is very cheap. 
I cannot fall a single bit." 

He at the cost mark peeped. 
He feigns he's selling out at cost. 

And cannot fall, be-joses, 
Without incurring heavy loss. 

He'd swear by holy Moses. 

But, by the by, we pretend to go, 
And offer but dollars six. 
"I cannot take that price!" said Steve, 
But we've heard of Jewish tricks. 



THE CUNNING, COVETOUS JEW. 105 

We move along, as if to go. 

And watch that cunning Jew; 
He could not take, he pretended so, 

But he'll wrap it up for you. 

"Now can I sell you a hat or tie?" 

He^ll show you through the stock; 
You cannot go unless you buy. 

At prices at bed-rock. ' 
He's always selling out at cost, 

And tells a woeful tale; 
He's had a fire, a damage loss, 

The reason for the sale. 

"Xow call again," he'll say to you, , 

One hand upon your shoulder — 
An instinct of an artful Jew, 

To cheat and be the bolder. 
He casts a wink at an elder son 

To signify he's done you. 
And that's the way the thing is done 

By the cunning, covetous Hebrew. 

And thus he goes from year to year, 

A-selling out so cheap; 
And yet he has a conscience clear, 

And money by the heap. 
Though all was made by selling out 

Away below the cost. 
And that's the way this Jew came out 

Who sold and always lost. 



106 INDIANA. 



THE RAGGEDY GAL. 

The raggedy gal is nurse for ma. 

And chores about the house; 
She makes the children cake and slaw, 

And good old apple sauce. 
Her flaky pudding is so fine 

And colored nice and brown, 
And served with milk from fattest kine, 

And sugar from the town. 

Oil! the raggedy gal, the raggedy gal. 
Encircled with a balmoral! 

She gave us peaches from the trees. 

And peanuts from the ground. 
Some pretty shells from out the sea. 

And played like she was clown. 
Then up and down the road we went, 

A-drawing of a cart. 
And from the dusty path we sent 

The grasshopper quick and sharp. 
Oh! the raggedy gal, the raggedy gal. 
Encircled with a balmoral! 

The raggedy gal will care for baby, 
Playing in the pleasant shade. 

Just as happy as a May bee 
Out in gaudy dress parade. 



THE RAGGEDY GIRL. IO7 



Little songs she's always humming, 

All must bow and nod (and sing; 
Little feet are nimbly shuffling 
To the trumpet's twangling ring. 
Oh! the raggedy gal, the raggedy gal. 
Encircled with a balmoral! 

We love the chubby ragged lady 
For the sweet meats and the buns; 

IS^o matter if her dress is fady, 
She has friends, and loving ones. 

Children play about her jolly, 

And press her gently at the knees; 

They enjoy such pranks and folly- 
Pleasures for their childish ease. 

Oh! the raggedy gal, the raggedy gal. 
Encircled with a balmoral! 

She is queen out making sunshine. 

Gathering moss from off the logs, 
Swinging in the corded grape vines, 

And seeking the curious of the bogs 
She is captain of the party 

As the marauders scour the woods; 
They are laughing loud and hearty. 

Gathering berries ripe and good. 

Oh ! the raggedy gal, the raggedy gal^ 
Encircled with a balmoral! 



108 INDIANA. 



Oh! the sweetest thing is the raggedy gal, 

Singing songs of fal-de-ral. 

She has access to the cellar. 

Giving out the apples mellow; 

She has all the pantry care^ — 

Pies and cakes so rich and rare; 

She must give the urchins some. 

Bless the children! this is fun. 

Oh! the good old raggedy, raggedy gal, 

Encircled with a balmoral! 



THE AVELLS TRAGEDY. 

THE FOUR INNOCENTS. 

As four small boys were at work one day 
Picking strawberries so beautiful and red, 

Their hearts were very blithe and gay. 
And the sun shone bright o'erhead. 

Work to them was naught but play, 

They did it with a will; 
Adroitly they worked away 

Their vessels for to fill. 

The father came the work to inspect. 

But ne'er tried to assist; 
His mind was crazed and did reflect 

In the ways of a pessimist. 



THE WELLS TRAGEDY. 109 

Their childish giee told the work was done, 

As the playful little boys 
Were starting homeward so full of fun, 

With such cheerful, childish joys. 

The father lured them on the way 

By scenes at a wayside well, 
Where a woodchuck burrowed in the clay, 

Which served as their parting knell. 

While looking in the quaint old well, 

The father pushed them in. 
Oh! such a sight! Oh! who can tell 

Of such a crime and sin! 

They dropped beneath the turbid wave. 

They climbed the rugged wall. 
And looking at their father, crazed, 

They pitifully did call. 

"Oh! father, save! What have we done 

That you desire to kill? 
Our task we've never tried to ishun; 

Oh! spare us, please grant our will!^' 

But on he went with furious rage, 

And crushed one's little head: 
The father had them in a cage — 

Their wounds profusely bled. 



110 INDIANA. 



They caught the parent by the leg 

And writhed as he pushed them under, 

And for their lives they begged and plead— 
Their bodies he rent asunder. 

The mother saw from a distant place 
Something she could not descry, 

And, speeding onward with quickened pace. 
She heard the children cry. 

God! the sight that met her eyes, 
As she peered down in the deep. 

She heard such pitiful, pleading cries. 
But two had gone to sleep. 

She wrung her hands and cried aloud, 
And prayed God her children to save; 

Behold! there came a rescue crowd. 
And snatched two from the grave. 

The mother released two only sons 

Out of a madman's grasp — 
"A mother's love is the only one 

That will forever last. 

But the rent that's in that mother's heart 

No time can ever heal, 
The jar that set their lives apart: 

The scenes about the well. 



MAXWBLL. Ill 



Her darlings lay upon the ground, 

Their spirits gone to heaven; 
No trace of life in them was found 

Save the promise God has given. 

No place can shut the soul within — 

It rests outside the tomb; 
The one that dies and is free from sin 

Finds in God's temple a boon. 

MAXWELL. 

In early days, when wild woods was rife. 
The people sought to better their life; 
To join their mites was a common rule. 
And build a rural district school. 
So the people here did just the same. 
And built a cabin before the frame; 
And many a tale the by-gones tell 
Of how we courted sweet Eosie Nell. 

The older boys would cut the wood, 

And do such things as they thought they should, 

While the girls would sweep the rustic floor, 

And hang around the open door. 

We jumped the rope and dropped the 'kerchiefs too, 

And passed the dreary winters through; 

We stood in a line our lessons to spell. 

And sought a place by sweet Eosie Nell. 



112 



INDIANA. 



A hole in the wall transmitted light, 

And the old rude henches were a sight; 

You'd see them setting along the wall. 

For ne'er a one had a back at all. 

We'd sit there like a crouching 'coon, 

And thro\r some wads across the room — 

For this is what the old folks tell 

Of the pranks they played with sweet Rosie Nell. 




Some gads were cut, and hid around. 
For those who played and acted the clown; 
And often it happened the culprit missed. 
And an innocent back would writhe and twist 



MAXWELL. 113 



Beneath the flail of the teachin,£^ one. 

To pay the debt of the lauo-li and fun. 

For this is the way they cut a swell, 

And attracted the attention of sweet Rosie Nell, 

The windows sometimes were paper gauze; 

We had a code of well-written laws: 

The absconder must always meet the brunt 

For taking a truant rabbit hunt; 

The teacher would often make the plan. 

And often he had but one eye or hand. 

And yet he would act the dude and swell 

To gain the confidence of sweet Rosie Nell. 

And this is the way old Maxwell grew, 

Until the district was cut in two." 

One part was east and one was west — 

'Tis hard to tell you which was best; 

For often we met of evenings to see 

Which was the best at a spelling bee,. 

And much was the cunning that was used and well 

To be best man with ^weet Rosie Nell. 

But then there came some better days. 
The boys rode out in one-horse chaise. 
And now our name is spread afar 
Since we've passed the code of the three R's. 
"We are keeping abreast and with the times 
By making of teachers and divines; 
And now we return from a distance to tell 
Of how we courted sweet Rosie Nell. 



114 INDIANA. 



THE KISSING BUG. 

Some ladies are afraid of a kissing bug, 

And cannot sleep o' night, 
And yet they embrace and kiss a thug 

And think it out of sight. 

This bug appears when snug in bed,. 

And you are sound asleep; 
You'll feel it crawling o'er your head, 

And touch your rosy cheeks. 

He steals a kiss, then off he goes. 

The subject sleeping sound; 
He leaves the impression of his nose — 

In the morning it is found. 

You'll know this bug, with tweezers sharp, 

And beak that's very black; 
You'll feel so queer about the heart 

As he takes a dainty smack. 

This is a freak, as Ave have found, 

While walking in the park: 
That ladies pass their kisses 'round 

When it is growing dark. 

This bug has plenty of cologne. 
And smells like foaming beer; 

He feels himself so much at hom^. 
When on a lady's ear. 



THE HAPPPY FARMER. 115 

]N"ow, ladies, you should guard your moutli, 

As you have had some tips, 
Or this vagrant will break in your house 

And kiss your rosy lips. 

THE HAPPY FARMER. 

Did you ever see a farmer, by jo, 
Out in his little potato patch to hoe, 
"With the weeds falling dead all around 
On the dark, fertile, gopherized ground? 
It is quite a i^retty sight to see, 
With the Colorado beetle on his knee; 
But he is a happy farmer, just so. 

Did you ever see a farmer, by jo. 

Out in his little meadow to mow^. 

And the children all coming out to play. 

Always getting in the sturdy farmer's way? 

It is a sight quite pretty, I would say. 

And his good Avife is tedding of the hay; 

But he is a happy farmer, just so. 

Did you ever see a farmer, by jOp 
As he goes out his seed to sow. 
With the midges in his wheat, 
And the cheat blossoms sweet 
As he plods across the field? 
He knows there'll be no yield; 
But he is a happy farmer, just so. 



116 INDIANA. 

Did you ever see a farmer, by jo, 

As his prospects are brightening up so,. 

With the pumpkin on the vine, 

And bis hogs, and his kine? 

But the cholera will come. 

And the fatal black tongue — 

But he is a happy farmer, just so. 

Did you ever see a farmer, by jo, 
As he hitches up his team to go 
And gather the golden grain, 
In the snow and the rain 
And bring it to the barn? 
Which is the custom on the farm — 
But he is a happy farmer, just so. 

Did you ever see a farmer, by jo, 

With his produce all heaped in a row^ 

As he starts for the town 

And the prices have come down? 

Then he trudges all around. 

And no market is found; 

But he is a happy farmer, just so. 

Did you ever see a farmer, by jo. 

Under mortgages and debts to grow? 

As he starts to go away 

Some dude will halloo "Hey!'' 

Then the farmer will look around, 

And the imp can't be found. 

For he is a muscled farmer, just so. 



JOHN CHINAMAN, MY JOE. 117 

Did you ever sec a farmer, by jo, 

As the Master is calling him to go 

Unto his final rest 

With the good and oppressed? 

For he was a son bf toil 

In this world of turmoil — 

But he was a happy farmer, by jo. 

JOHN CHINAMAN, MY JOE. 

Of all the men I chance to meet, 
In crowded lane or on the street. 
With blouse around his chubby beak, 
And wooden shoes upon his feet. 

Is John Chinaman, my Joe John, 

John Chinaman, my Joe. 

When in a crowd he'll hustle through. 
He wore a plaid he called a "queue," 
You'll know him by the antique shoe, 
x\nd eyes that's just set in askew, 

John Chinaman, my Joe John, 

John Chinaman, my Joe. 

He wore a cap drawn o'er his skull, 
And mice and rats they filled his hull, 
His chop-sticks came unto a lull 
As he smoked his pipe of opiates full, 

John Chinaman, my Joe John, 

John Chinaman, my Joe. 



118 INDIANA. 



A mandarin, we call the chap 
In wooden shoes and turban cap, 
And beneath his chest he wore a flap,* 
This mulligan man with braided plat, 
John Chinaman, my Joe John, 
John Chinaman, my Joe. 

You'll find him in a laundry shop 
Filled with relics unto the top; 
A little rice to fill his chops, 
And a couch within on which he lops, 
John Chinaman, my Joe John, 
John Chinaman, my Joe. 

He little eats, and little drinks. 
And of his soul he little thinks; 
His almond eyes he blinks and blinks, 
His pig-tail queue he plaits and kinks, 
John Chinaman, my Joe John, 
John Chinaman, my Joe. 

His complexion is of a tawny hue, 
And stature like a Chinese shrew, 
His manners he cannot renew. 
Except by the teaching of Confuciu, 
John Chinaman, my Joe John^ 
John Chinaman, my Joe. 

* Flap is used for the word apron. 



THE PAINTER POET, J. W. RILEY, 119 

Some day hell pass through deathly throes. 
And go where all good Chinamen goes, 
iVnd where that is we do not know. 
It may he heaven, or it may he — so, 

John Chinaman, my Joe John, 

John Chinaman, my Joe. 

And here we'll leave the mulligan man. 
And all akin to the Orient clan; 
There's vice enough in the heathen land 
To hring that kingdom to a strand, 

John Chinaman, my Joe John, 

John Chinaman, my Joe. 

. THE PAINTER POET, J. W. EILEY, 

Twas on. a painter's scaffold, 

x\ doming the faded walls. 
That our *poet ohtained his lessons 

In those scenes aglow for all. 

But he's nohler than a painter. 

With an eye for beauteous scroll, 
And has penned such words of wisdom 

As his thoughts in music roll. 

'Tis a gift of art so cunning 

To write in words of sweetest rhythm. 
And thus portray the scenes of nature. 

Or the seraphs God has given. 



120 INDIANA. 



But the poet pictures nicely 

Beautiful things out on the lea, 
As he sketches through his optics 

Greenest swards in waves like sea. 

With now and then a fragrant flower, 
Whose sweet aroma fills the breeze, 

Encircled with such ruddy petals 
The heart's delight in quest of ease. 

The pen is talking of the image 

In the mind or of the soul. 
As it speeds by inspiration 

To attain the good or goal. 

Thus we find the Hoosier Poet, 

In thoughts akin to the mouldering past. 
Holding forth a vivid picture 

Mirrored by the mind's reflecting cast. 

More excellent writings have ne'er been given 

In a strain so rich and 'pure, 
Flowing gently with a ripple, 

Everlasting to endure. 



POCAHONTAS^ 

Born in the sylvan wild. 
Inured to toil and strife. 

Meek and modest was the chil: 
Who strove a nomad life. 



POCAHONTAS. 121 



Amidst those of a rubicund hue, 

Painted in warlike array, 
This innocent in amity .s^rcw, 

With the viHagers in frolicsome play. 

Daughter of the great Powhattan Chief, 

Heir to the throne of her race. 
Friend to the Pilgrims in relief. 

With venison to relieve their wan grimace. 

In trials and trouble she's true. 
For grandeur she surely was born; 

For as soon as the war dance was through 
She brought a sweet morsel of corn. 

But a noise from the rattle breaks in, 

An. omen of war and of peace; 
'Tis a sight in such noise and din 

To see the foe crouch for relief. 

Adroitly the old chief raised 

His war club o'er his crested head, 

But Providence by Pocahontas saved 

Captain Smith from fhe throes of the dead. 

child inspired with such love. 

Whose motives were friendly and good — 

An image so pure like the dove . 

Which abode on the Savior in the wood. 



J 22 INDIANA. 



Now with vain design these warriors adorn , 
Sad heart, knowing secrets of right; 

A message to the village is home 

As she steals through the darkness of night. 

They were saved hy the warning of one, 

A goddess in savage dress, 
A life like a ray of the Son 

Which God has pardoned and hlessed. 

She was held as a ransom of peace 

Till the red warriors mellowed in strife. 

But never was her heart quite released, 
For Tiodolph had made her his wife. 

She was taken to the court of St. James, 
An honored and competent guest, 

A wonder to those of the Thames, 
Delighted and fondly caressed. 

A union of hearts and of hands, 

A union of tribes and of lands, 

A union of posterity still 

Eemains in the Old Dominion, and will, 

HANS SPADGENS' HEN. 

Now come, old Speck, I'll make dot nest. 

And put vone dozzen in it; 
You'll git some rest and I'll he hleshed 

Wid thirteen checks within it. 



HANS SPADGENS' HEX. 123 

Just git right on these eggs ov yoiir'n, 

And varm dee dormant germ; 
I'll give dee food to hatch dee brood 

And keep dem fertile and varm. 

^Fadam Spadgens is vanting some fowels 

To sell and buy some yarns, 
And because she's none she sometimes growls 

And makes some great alarms. 

Xow yer set thri weeks; I'll try dem eggs 

And see der good a tall; 
I'll hold dee light so nice and bright, 

And votch dee silihouette on der wall. 

Oh, vife, come hor and votch right thar, 

And see if yer can skiver. 
If dee shadow thar is downy far. 

Or shades ov a torpid liver. 

Oh, yaw, yaw, yaw! it moves! it moves! 

These eggs vill soon be checkens; 
Tey'll scratch me flowers aft rainy showers, 

And then thar'll be dee dickens. 

And now I has dem all but vone, 

Dee shell seems not a pippen; 
I'll press it vittle gist for vun. 

Pooh! pooh! it crashed! it's rotten! 



121 INDIANA. 



And now I has de hull of dem, 

Dee ole bird's alers clucken; 
I'll build a pin to put dem in, 

To save dee flowers from thar plucken. 

Xow I see thass logger beers 

For me and Dolly Spadgens; 
Vee'll eat sauer krout and ,sip about 

From dee foaming, frothy flagons. 

Some fruits vee'll raise along wid checks^ 

To kape from constipation; 
Some grapes and eggs and yellow legs 

Will form our daily rations. 

THE EOBIN. 

The robin built her clever nest 

In the fork of an apple tree; 
'Twas there I saw her pale red breast^ 

And eggs so blue to see. 

She sang a song from a tilting limb^ 

'Twas early in the morn; 
Her nest was filled unto the brim 

With birdies newly born. 

I waved my hand above the nest, 
They chirped, and chirped again. 

And stretched. their necks their very best- 
'Twas only but a sham. 



THE ROBIN. 



125 




THE ROBIN. 



The tune she sang was loud and sweet, 
It soothed the young ones' breasts; 

She soared away for some food to eat, 
As nature had taudit her best. 



126 INDIANA. 



The young birds looked at the mother above, 
And wondered why such cheer; 

^Twas the sweetest melody of family love 
That one could ever hear. 

She watched the nestlings clothed in down, 

As day by day they grew. 
Until their pinions feathered round, 

Then from their nest they flew. 

They now are singing a robin's lay. 

As children ought to do; 
It banishes sorrow from each day. 

As life they journey through. 

OUR FLAG. 

Our flag still waves o'er Xo. 9, 
It floats out from the steeple; 

This is a country great and grand, 
A patriotic people. 

Some heartless wretch removed it once — 

An insult to the teaclier; 
She played the part of Judy Punch, 

The handsome little creature. 

She then procured a big pop-gun — 

It bore an ivory handle; 
It reminds one of a petty tale — 

^Twill always raise a scandal. 



A VIEW OF NATURE. 127 

And now the parties have taken it up, 
The hoot owl loudly screeches; 

Politicians are full of sup — 
They have it in their hreeches. 

Patriotism is not so free 

Expressed by public speakers; 
'Tis only a little bragadoshee — 

They are but office-seekers. 

Just like the fox said to the ass: 
"Your ears they will betray thee/' 

No matter if you have the brass 
And are working for the party. 

We'll kill the goat and whip the kid 
That removed the flying missile; 

Then the lady can lay down 
Her Yankee belt and pistol. 

Joan of Arc was a heroine — 

She rode a flying charger; 
But all there is of that teacher now: 

Her name is a little larger. 

A VIEW OF NATURE. 

Ambition leads to great success; 
A tiresome hand is ever blessed 
With all this earth doth hold 
In fee or treasures of shining gold. 



128 INDIANA. 



A shiftless person is all a gloAY, 
Preparing a field some seeds to sow. 
It may be great, 'it may be small, 
Bnt knowledge gained surpasses all. 

A childish mind is but a blank, 
Eevolving around just like a crank. 
Adhering to either good or bad, 
Making a man out of a lad. 

Proper schooling is wha-t one needs, 
Tearing away the noxious weeds, 
And using skillfully a pruning knife 
To shape the tree for after life. 

Education is a nursery bed 
Out of which our thoughts are fed, 
And, judging by the streams that flow 
People may our culture know. 

Good nature smiled upon the child, 
Embracing him when very wild, 
Inviting him to come and rest, 
Peering through her folds of dress. 

KIND DEEDS. 

Little deeds of kindness 
Always are at hand, 

Eeady to remind us 
Greatness is a man. 



THE MONON WRECK. 129 

Storing up a treasure 

Unto the garner's fill, 
With a social wisdom, 

Should be our only will. 

Working in the sunshine. 

With exalted cheer, 
Elevating mankind, 

With nothing for to fear. 

Uniting all in friendship 

Which should ever be, 
Forming of a union 

To calm a troubled sea. 



Come, board the ship that leads to life, 
Whose sails are made of love. 

And banish things which lead to strife, 
And sail to God above. 



THE MONON WRECK. 

OUR LAST RIDE. 

The train is coming yonder, near. 
The conductor calls the station clear. 
Then outward move the busy throng 
Ready for their stepping on. 



130 INDIANA. 



A sifirnal waved savs all is well, 
And now we hear the parting bell; 
The engineer opes the steam chest throes, 
Then swifter than a dart she goes. 

She glides along quite at her ease, 
The swiftness causes a gentle breeze; 
The wheels are creaking on the frosty rails, 
Just like a bird she nimbly sails. 

One mile is passed and all is fun; 
Two miles are made — the thing is done: 
We are crossing over Sugar creek bridge. 
And starting on the graded ridge. 

She strikes against a broken rail. 
When all the cars it does derail. 
And down they plunge into the deep, 
A depth of more than sixty feet. 

She rolled over just afore and aft. 
The occupants turning like a shaft, 
Before she reaches this mournful place. 
Where each the other's soul embraced. 

A silence fell upon the crew. 
As if they knew not what to do; 
Then came sad and lamenting cries 
From a wreck of cars as flames arise. 



THE MONON WRECK. 131 

Tears are flowing thick and fast 
From every one of the mangled mass; 
And, laying there, we hear their prayers, 
Asking the Lord to relieve their cares: 

^Our Heavenly Father! wilt Thou draw near, 
And hear our woe in supplication here; 
Save us from this wreck of flame, 
Where dearest comrades have been slain." 

To the nearest town a messenger made, • 
While on the ground the dead are laid. 
Oh, how terrible are the moaning sighs, 
With pitiful appeals and last good-byes! 

But there they lay on the crimson snow — 
Tlieir hearts have ceased to ebb and flow; 
Their mangled forms are cold in death; 
The awful shock has drawn their breath. 

And some are far from their native home, 
The ancient city of old Rome; 
Xever again to reach that clime, 
And hear the bell of St. Peter's chime. 

And now the flames begin to light 
The demolished cars, which adds to fright, 
For fear that all will burn to death. 
Oh, God! intervene and save the rest! 



132 INDIANA. 



And yonder in the wreck I see 
A man that's pinioned down by the knee, 
And hear him moaning and to say; 
"Cut, oh, cut my leg awayP 

But a jaekscrew from the mail caboose 
Is now applied and lets him loose, 
With many thanks to these brave men — 
For greater heroes ne'er have been. 

There was a mother, frantic and wild, 
liOoking for her little child. 
Which in her fright had run away 
To the nearest house of that sad fray. 

And as that mother paced to and fro, 
She found some footprints in the snow, 
• And, leaping onward with breathless bound. 
Her loving daughter soon was found. 

And such a meeting ne'er has been — 
It moistened the eyes of the bravest men. 
While in her arms she clasped so dear 
The object of her joy and fear. 

But four are dead — they speak no more: 
The Savior has their souls in store. 
Awaiting of the Judgment Day, 
Where all is good, or sad dismay. 



A REVIVAL MEETING. 133 



A EEVIVAL MEETING. 

'Tis long to be remembered, 

Those grand old meetings of yore, 

Those songs of cheer which soothed the ear- 

'Twas never so before. 

Xone tired by oft times meeting, 

Xor love of brotherly greeting; 

'Twas a Christians' old reunion. 

Partaking of the Lord's communion. 

To preach the gospel was God's command. 
Preach it boldly in every land, 
Teach it plainly in every truth, 
Gleaning carefully, like ancient Ruth; 
Converting sinners to God's embrace, 
To bear the cross with heavenly grace. 
And be a soldier in the glorious strife. 
And make atonement for a future life. 

Be Christ's disciples, and fear no ill. 
And fearlessly teach the Savior's will; 
And make it plain to every man, 
Proving all things from a Bible stand. 
The work must be so good and true 
To insure the soul its passport through 
To the holy city not made wit-h hands, 
"VYhere sits the king of hosanna bands. 



134 INDIANA. 



The streets are paved in purest gold, 

x\nd altars adorned in emeralds old, 

And with sapphires and rubies just awry, ' 

"Which shines like constellations in the sky. 

'No crown of thorns upon the head. 

But one of joy and love instead. 

And thus remains the Christian fraternity 

Throughout the ages of all eternity. 

A myriad of voices with anthem ring, 

AVhile noble evangelists lead the van; 

Like David's harp, it cheers the soul. 

And encourages one to attain the goal 

Which rests beyond the starry sky. 

Where never a soul will say good-bye, 

But rest eternal around the throne, 

And join with the saints in "Home, Sweet Home. 



MY MARY OF MISSOURI. 

My Mary of Missouri 

Was quick, and blithe, and shy, 
A goddess of simplicity, 

AVith dark and hazel eye. 
She was as modest as could be, 

x\nd playful as a kitten; 
I watched the expression of her face 

To see she meant no mitten. 



MY MARY OF MISSOURI. 135 

I advanced a little farther 

And mildly said: "Kind lady, 
Let's seat ourselves down by the brook, 

And converse where it is sliady.'^ 
Her cheeks were reddened to a blush, 

But cutely she assented; 
We talked about the pinks and ferns. 

And things so complimented. 

Her nature was a child of mirth. 

As things of nature blended; 
I spoke in tones (juite soft and low. 

In words of love intended. 
The query, though, I never put, 

But matched some buds and cherries. 
And Avatched the mirror of a soul- — 

^Twas like two image fairies. 

I concealed my thoughts from one I loved. 

With flowing, shining tresses; 
Her face was fair, 1 do declare, 

And lips were pure caresses. 
The day was calm and very warm. 

The woods were fairly humming. 
When two young hearts were beating fast — 

Like pheasants they were drumming. 

We started off a-rambling 

Among the dells and bowers; 
We culled the sweetest roses. 

And all the pretty flowers. 



136 INDIANA. 



The cows lowed in the pastures. 
And birds were singing sweet; 

My eyes were on those dimples. 
Like rubies, in her cheeks. 

I moved to her some closer. 

And looked gently in her face,, 
And threw my arms around 

Her neat and slender waist. 
My heart felt like 'twas yearning 

As neared the time to part — 
Just then I did discover 

She had my soul and heart. 

I asked a future meeting, 

She bowed with graceful bliss, 
And, iriiproving precious moments^ 

I stole a pleasant kiss. 
I vowed that I would have her. 

If ever such could be, 
That she should be my darling 

And I her fiance. 

1 asked her out fo-r walking — 

'Twas only for a plea. 
And quickly she responded: 

"I'll journey long with thee." 
Then raising her golden bracelet — 



The fairest in the land — 
I placed the shining signet 
Of love upon her hand. 



MONEY MOVES. 137 



'Twas settled then, forever. 

That we would never part: 
That I would have a better half. 

And slie a lovini? heart. 
A cottage on the hill revealed 

A pleasant country home. 
Where I reigned jointly as a king, 

And she heir to the throne. 



MOXEY MOVES. 

Men's hearts are moved by money. 
As the wind moves the snow; 

And it is a great incentive 
For them to make a show. 

From the peasant in his cottage 
To the king upon the throne, 

You'll find the power of money 
To be the whole backbone. 

The jingling of the guinea, 
And the shining of the dust. 

Will wear away corrosion 
And brighten up the rust. 

It will bring us to our duty 

When ever}'thing else would fail; 

It will stay us in our business. 
If our efforts are but stale. 



138 



INDIANA. 



MAEY^S LAMB. 

Mary's lamb is dead long ago, 
But young ones just as gay 

Are running in the fields, you know. 
And just as nice at play. 




MARY'S LAMB. 



The road that Mary went to school 
Is now macadam or a pike; 

The boys and girls all breal^ the rules 
By riding on a bike. 



LANGUAGE. 139 



The old school house is torn away, 

No trace of it is found; 
But a new one built in modern ways 

Now stands upon the ground. 

The lamb that ate from ]\Iary's hand 
Has greater advantages now: 

Since Grace a new invention planned, 
It sucks the Jersey cow. 

The Jersey loved the lambkin so 

She treated it with pride. 
And everywhere that she would go. 

It trotted by her side. 

The children say they will not release 
The lamb from oif the farm, 

And that they want its pretty fleece 
To make their stocking yarn. 

x\nd as the years are passing by, 
You need not think it strange 

If airships sail beneath the sky. 
Like meteors in their range. 

LANGUAGE. 

Language flows from the lips of him 
AVho speaks with cultured tongue; 

It's music just as choice as when 
The organ's keys are sprung. 



140 INDIANA. 



But children learn without a will 
Those sweetest rippling notes, 

Absorbing of the teacher's skill — 
His actions largely floats. 

Good manners should predominate: 
Use diligence in every plan; 

With care in showing to create, 
Will make the better man. 



THE WAESHIP MAINE. 

The Maine moved onward in her glory, 

To the tropic isle of Spain, 
Where she anchored in the harbor. 

And freedom shrieked in vain. 
She floated o'er the foaming waters, 

Tike the soaring albatross. 
When the roaring billows threatened 

And the sea was upward tossed. 

Then she sailed into Havana harbor. 

With her ensign to the breeze — 
Just a thing of perfect beauty, 

Valiant sailors at their ease. 
But the fiendish Spanish warriors. 

Filled with murder and rapine. 
Fired a shot from just beneath her, 

From an electric magazine. 



THE WARSHIP ISIAINE. 141 

The good old ship was rent asunder, 

And our heroes writhed with pain; 
x\nd now this nation throbs with fervor 

To redress the wrongs to the battle Maine. 
This brings to bear the Monroe Doctrine, 

Severing chains of bonded men, 
Dating back to some old country 

By colonizing and ties of ken. 

Uncle Sam will soon be heeded 

By ancient powers of kings and queens. 
Which lie along the old world oceans. 

Great in pomp and showy scenes. 
Every patriotic American citizen 

Scorns intrusion by a foe, 
Fearless, dauntless, waiting patient 

For their orders for to go 

And uphold the Starry Banner 

Of the Union strong and grand, 
Sailing outward on the ocean 

To the shores of another land. 
\Ye don't desire the Isle of Cuba, 

But are longing for to see 
Her name inscribed like other nations 

With a banner pure and free. 



142 INDIANA. 



THANKSGIVING. 

The turkeys are so fat and nice. 
And bounteous crops are clear; 

We give our thanks for the nation's life, 
With a festival once a year. 

In the days of sixty-three and four, 

When no one knew her fate, 
We put our trust in Almighty Power 

To save the old Ship of State. 

And in the end the right prevailed, 

No ribs or keel were rent. 
But onward against the tide she sailed, 

On a glorious mission bent. 

And when the close was surely known. 
Our hearts beat free but still: 

The cause of liberty was widely sown 
O'er woodland, vale and hill. 

No color line divides us now. 

Our wounds have healed quite well; 

And all to the same Omnipotent bow. 
With free, unrestrained good will. 

We thank the Lord who gave the strength 

This blessing to secure. 
And bring a struggle to an end 

We hope will long endure. 



A COUNTRY SAWMILL WAGON. 143 

Xo men are now dragged through tlie street, 

And jDapers burned with ire; 
The press is free with moral sheet. 

If it can find a buyer. 

No railroads on the tunnel plan, 

But on an elevation, 
And he who rides must be a man — 

A part of a living nation. 

Now all of this was brought about 

By pluck and might together: 
The boys in blue did freely shout — 

Their blood did stain the heather. 

And thus we have Thanksgiving Day 
To commune and bless each other, 

When we can sing and talk and pray. 
And commingle like a brother. 

A COUNTEY SAWMILL WAGON. 

Some wheels were thick and some were thin, 
I blocked the log on with a pin, 
And through the hounds was thrust a pole 
To stop the haggard-looking hole. 

Some chains were large and some were small. 
And some could not be found at all; 
It is the very best pattern of the kind, 
And neither wheel will fall in line. 



144 INDIANA. 



A wonderful thing is the coupling pin — ' 
It's crooked without and crooked within; 
Tlie bolsters were staid up with a wire, 
Which played a tune like an ancient lyre. 

And in the world it has no peer — 
It's rattled along for many a year; 
But I must confide unto a friend: 
It's good enough to keep and lend. 

It has gone through woods and through the mire, 
And over the rocks which sparkled fire; 
But on it went, with teamster friend, 
Until it met a final end. 

It struck a bowlder a heavy jolt, 
Which broke the axles and severed a bolt; 
Then came a crash amidst mud and rain — 
There in a heap it still remains. 



A CHAEACTEEIZED SCHOOL. 

In the upper camp the boss is large, 
He runs his boat just like a barge, 
And now I think he is aground — 
You ousfht to hear him blow and sound. 



A COUNTRY ELDER. 145 

This teacher's name is Georgie Shultz, 
lie courts the girls by feeling pulse; 
And when he's far in the abyss, 
He seals the bargain with a kiss. 

In the lower camp the bees are thick, 
And Homer stirs 'em with a stick; 
He bids them all to be quite still, 
His voice is very harsh and shrill — 
You'd think it was a raging storm, 
Or the devil's imp in uniform. 



A COUNTRY ELDER. 

An elder once, whose name was Claron, 
Was hunting cows one starry night; 

He did not meet the rose of Sharon, 
But fell into a pretty plight. 

By chance he passed a suitor's mansion, 
And leaned so gently on the gate: 

As two young men went by to sanction. 
This praying elder pulled his freight. 

He turned his face in shadowed darkness. 

For fear he would suspicion 'rouse: 

"Halloo, my boy, bad time o' night 

That you are out a-hunting cows." 
11 



146 INDIANA. 



"This is a sight quite pretty, deacon, 
Silent prayers are heard above; 
Xo wonder that you look so sneakin' 
When you're out a-making love 

"With another man's poor maiden, 
When he's ofP a-teaching school; 
Just because he's heavy laden. 
You try to play him for a fool." 

DEATH OF D. W. VOORHEES. 

He has served at the bar of justice, 
With all his skill and power; 

His strength was that of -a giant, 
An orator was his dower. 

His voice was sweet and musical, 
The ear 'twould fairly charm; 

His metaphors like the Savior's, 
This hero of the farm. 

He's served in the nation's Congress, 

And did his work so well 
That all are singing praises 

Who mourn his loss to tell. 

He served the people valiantly. 
Their cause he did defend; 

Like Cincinnatus, the chieftain, 
He served them to the end. 



THE FROG. 147 



Oil, tlie nol)le tliin.c^s of wisdom 
For which he gave his might, 

And stood so peer and manly 
Until he got it right. 

He advocated building 

A national library tall and wide, 
And lived to see it completed, 

Whatever may betide. 

But the Savior's knocking, calling 
For spirits when they're right, 

And taking home his children 
From darkness into light. 

So He claimed this national hero, 
Whose name was rightly given, 

To come and meet the angels i^^. 
Before the bar of heaven. 

And in the hour of darkness, 

AMicn the stars were shining bright. 

The soul of the Indianian 

Took its upward course or flight. 

THE FEOG. 

The frog sits on the old mill dam, 
And catches bugs and flies. 

And when he hears a noise at hand, 
He just leaps in and dives. 



148 



INDIANA. 



You can see his kicking legs, 
At which you're sure to gaze, 

And see the moving of the dregs 
In little circling waves. 




And when he reaches the other shore, 
You'll hear him halloo again; 

It may be like some distant roar. 
Or like the bleating lamb. 

And as you're passing some old pond, 
You'd think the demon's there, 

To hear them halloo from each frond, 
A les^ion of voices rare. 



PEARL BR yak's FATE. 149 

And when you look around to find 

What made the tragic sound, 
You'll see that you are far behind — 

No trace of them is found. 

And if you chance to locate one, 

You need not be surprised, 
For just above the slimy scum 

You'll see his piercing eyes. 

And if the coast is not so clear 

That he would like to land, 
He'll duck again, so much in fear, 

And seek some other strand. 

The tree-frog is so very odd. 

And yet he's very strange: 
His color changes from a clod 

To things on which they range. 

PEAEL BRYAN'S FATE. 

Pretty Pearl Bryan had an elegant liome, 
With flowers and green pastures- whither she roamed; 
Her face like a rosebud, and teeth snowy white, 
A gem of pure beauty — a star of the night. 

There came to this cottage, in care of Will Wood, 
A wooer, Scott Jackson, an imp of the lewd. 
And betrayed this kind maiden.her heart he did break, 
Who laid down her life for a villain's sake. 



150 INDIANA. 



He absconded to Cincinnati, and dentistry took, 
And left a true love lie willfully forsook, 
To pine in true nature — a false, fickle friend, 
He never intended his ways for to mend. 

There came a quick message: "Oh! come to me, dear, 
I never once thought how I treated you here. 
Oh, come to me, darling. I'll make it all right; 
Make your departure in shadow of night.". 

Shrill shrieked the whistle, she then bade adieus. 
And soon there was flying this wonderful news. 
She's safe in Queen City, a medium is found, 
And her future destiny this witch does expound. 

She goes to the station her steps to retake. 
Where AValling consoles her, which is a mistake. 
A carriage is procured for making a drive. 
When this poor girl is last seen alive. 

A darkey was secured as coachman in disguise. 
To the shore of Kentucky they quickly arrive; 
These steeds of assassins are making good stride 
To a place in the bushes, their mischief to hide. 

The carriage is stopped by the side of the road, 
Where two cruel wretches have landed their load; 
With cocaine and da.e^ger these fiends, 'tis said. 
Relieved this poor damsel of a beautiful head. 



PEARL Bryan's fate. 151 

When the moon's rays reflected the bright, sliining 

steel, 
She fainted within and began for to kneel. 
"Oh, God, save the distressed, and care for me ([uick! 
Take me to heaven." Then came the death lick. 

She sank on the leaflets, her blood stained the thyme; 
Thus ended the most brutish of modern crime — 
iVll for the lusts or passions of men, 
Whose doom is the scaffold or work in the pen. 

The darkey is frightened nigh unto death. 
And flees with the horses that's throbbing for breath, 
And leaves the two murderers afoot for to flee, 
AVith the head in a satchel, as bloody as can be. 

A search of their clothing reveals spots crimson red, 
But where. Oh! where is the poor victim's head? 
'Tis sunk in the river, or hid in the ground, 
Never, 'tis supposed, by man to be found. 

Xow these Herods are landed inside of a jail, 
And leave the old parents to weep and to wail 
The loss of their darling, so dear unto them. 
Slain by assassins — imps of good men. 

A mob is now raising: they quake, it is said, 
And feel the cold chills at the loss of their heads. 
x\n appeal is now taken to Kentucky for fear 
'Tis only a-hastening to meet the cold bier. 



152 INDIANA. 



These men they must hang, the jury did say. 
Until they are dead, a debt for to pay, 
For killins^ a maiden just in her beauty and bloom, 
And now lies headless in a mouldering tomb. 

They ascended the scaffold — a ransom of blood; 
The trap door is sprung, and Oh I what a thud! 
Two bodies are swinging at the end of a cord, 
Their spirits ascended to the court of our Lord. 

No telling which way the spirits will go — 
Whether 'tis up, or far, far below; 
One thing is certain: 'tis better by odds 
To be a good person, a child of God's. 

BOTANICAL SCIENCE. 

Our botany comes from Linnaeus of old, 
And to my mind it seems so cold; 
Peering through those stalks and stipes, 
My mind does wander as I write. 

By subterranean we view beneath the ground. 
And find those things that support the frond, 
And merge them into parts that suit 
All other ones above the root. 

By aerial we view the crown. 
Within which the germ is found, 
As it nods in the waving air, 
Closed within its capsule hair. 



THE CRITIC PRO TEM. 153 

And as the petals die and f^o, 
The seed is ready for to sow, 
Which is done by nature's hand. 
Seeding all the flowery land. 

By the biting of the frost 
The strength of nature all is lost; 
The shell is cracked, the stoma opes, 
And in the air the seed now floats. 

THE CRITIC PRO TEM. 

A critic once had lots of cheek, 
He treated people very indiscreet; 
To slander them he thought it fun — 
The imp, the rascal thus begun. 

He sought the Aveak to get a clew, 
His very language would make one spew, 
x\nd would throw the bile from oif the liver — 
The rubbish of this grammar-giver. 

B}^ chance he thought he'd change the scene 
And introduce a weather bulletin; 
But by the by it proved so hard — 
The signal came on a mourning card. 

It seemed to him to be most neat 
To brand the pupils of things not meek; 
But all of this is like one vain 
Seeking others to lay the blame. 



154 



INDIANA. 



WABASH COLLEGE. 

In days of forests primeval, 

AVhen people knew little but roam, 
There arose an enlightening upheaval 

To educate ];)eople at homo. 




WABASH COLLEGE. 



The idea was sown to germinate 
In an edifice great and grand, 

'Twas not known 'twould terminate 
AVith such fame throughout the land. 



WABASH COLLEGE. 155 



Its name was christened in glory 
By those who carried it through; 

Their heads grew frail and quite hoary — 
'Twas greater than anyone knew. 

It grew like a thing of God's rearing, 

Slowly and firmly, by degrees, 
By mites and similar clearings 

By donors like Whitlock and Simon Yandes. 

ITiere's knowledge for every poor creature 
That thirsts to illumine the soul; 

^Tis this the embodied great feature 
To reach the enlightening goal. 

The builders were men of great station. 
Achieving and embellishing a land, 

Adorning the might of a nation 

Which forever and ever shall stand. 

Already its fame's unbounded. 

By the speeches and literature of those 

Who have passed the degrees of her portals 
And astonished her friends and her foes. 

Come all and drink of the fountain 
Which develops soul, body and mind, 

And try like Moses the mountain. 
And see what Jewel you'll find. 



166 INDIANA. 



JIM ELMORE'S BEST. 

Jim Elmore, the sweet poet of Eipley township, has 
given us the following seasonable gem: 

In the spring of the year, 

When the blood is too thick. 
There is nothing so rare 

As the sassafras stick. 
It cleans up the liver. 

It strengthens the heart. 
And to the whole system 

New life doth impart. 

Sassafras, oh, sassafras! 
Thou art the stuff for me! 
And in the spring T love to sing, 
Sweetest sassafras, of thee. 

When the Journal last week received a poem extoll- 
ing the virtues of sassafras, to which poem was affixed 
the signature of James B. Elmore, we thought that 
the poet was nodding. The poem failed to contain 
the fire and the sweet rhythmical flow which charac- 
terizes the productions of the genius of old Eipley, 
still it was published for the sake of the signature it 
bore, as, indeed, are many other productions we wot 
of in the leading papers and magazines of the land. 



DUDES AND SASSAFRAS l'^? 

We are glad to state this week that the poem bore a 
forged name. Mr. Elmore didn't write it, as the fol- 
lowing from him will show: 

. "Mr. Editor — There was a piece of stale poetry in 
3'Our most excellent paper of last week on sassafras, 
which was attributed to James B. Elmore. I would 
say it is no child of mine. It is an illegitimate off- 
cast, or else its father would have owned it. ^ly 
poems are printed over my signature. The following 
is a genuine in compliment to the so-called fake; 

DUDE.« AND SASSAFEAS. 

Some people feign would be a poet 
With their cheek of brazen brass, 

As they fill their empty stomachs 
With the juice of sassafras. 

They are dudes from in the city. 

With a pole and line for bass, 
As they stroll by sparkling brooklets 

Hunting roots of sassafras. 

Some bring their paramour and flagons 

Filled with corn fermented gas. 
As they walk the dells and valleys 

In pursuit of sassafras. 



lo8 INDIANA. 



When their blood is dark and ruddy, 
x\nd their sldn is a mottled mass, 

They take a small decoction 
From the roots of sassafras. 

Some mistake the characteristics 

Of this tree with boughs like tinted grass. 
And have used the nauseous elder, 

Which removed their brains in mass. 

Now when your mind is wandering, 
x\nd your meter is stale in cast, 

Don't insinuate on bards and farmers. 
But just take your sassafras. 



THE COUNTRY BOY. 159 



THE COUNTRY BOY. 

T^IIE country boy is born amidst the broad fields 
^ and lovely forests, and is monarch of all he sur- 
veys. He enjoys all the pleasures of the farm, and 
learns to work at will, which gives him health, 
strength and a good constitution. He looks into na- 
ture with an ever wakeful eye, which is giving culture 
to his mind and giving him an education greater than 
the dry printed matter of a dozen hooks. He is the 
idol of the household, doing errands for his mother 
until he is old enough to drive a horse and use a plow; 
then he is in the care of his father. But he never for- 
gets the kind, gentle words of a fond, loving mother. 
He is in the fields every day with the men, and is 
being skilled in the arts of farming; and, growing up 
to manhood with his father's business, his keen per- 
ception take it all in at a glance. He is inured to 
toil, and is not afraid to work. He learns the hard- 
ships and privations which sometimes befall the farm- 
ers when the season is not favorable for a crop. 

This little fellow breathes the pure, wholesome air, 
^r-.turated with the odor of a thousand blossoms, and 
h.o brings the cows home from the pastures, which 



160 INDIANA. 



furnished the scene for M. II. Krout's poem, "Little 
Brown Hands": 

"They drive home the cows from the pasture, 
I"p through the long, shady lane, 
AVhei-e the quail whistles loud in the wheat fields 

That are yellow with ripening grain. 
They toss the new hay in the meadow, 
They gather the elder-blooms white, 
They find where the dusky grapes purple 

In the soft-tinted October light. 
They know where the apples hang ripest 

And are sweeter than Italy's wines. 
They know where the fruit hangs the thickest 
On the long, thorny blackberry vines." 

Tn the summer time these boys go barefooted, and 
sometimes poorly clothed; and they chase the bril- 
liant-hued butterfly in his flight from flovrer to flower, 
and are so alert as to bring him down with a single 
swoop of their hats. It is a great pleasure to them to 
ramble in the woods on clays when not at work, and 
see the pretty birds and playful squirrel leap from 
bough to bough. They gather the sweetest flowers 
for bouquets, and berries for to eat. They go a-fish- 
ing down to the little brook that runs through the 
pasture, and catch the red-sided minnows, of which 
they are as proud as if they had found a gold coin. 
How proud they are when they can use their father's 
gun and go hunting all by themselves! It may be 



THE COUNTRY BOY. 161 

that when they find game they will be so anxious that 
they will forget to put down powder, and have to re- 
turn home without any fun; but they have to learn, 
and will know better next time. You must not forget 
that these boys are only small men, upon whose shoul- 
ders the great ship of state rests for her future exist- 
ence: and they must not be kept too close at home. 
They must be allowed to go to town and see the cars 
and shows, and all the amusements possible, for it 
leaves impressions on their minds which the cares of 
a lifetime cannot obliterate. These things make up 
the garner of the mind, and furnish it so bountifully 
with food, which portray these beautiful lines: 

^^Then ^N'ature, the old nurse, took the boy upon her 
knee. 
Saying: ^Here is a story book thy father has given 
to thee.' " 

They must have some schooling, so they can apply 
themselves better to their task, and when they get an 
opportunity to go to school, I assure you that they 
will improve the time. They seem to apply them- 
selves better to their books than the city youth, who 
have a great deal better opportunities, as they have so 
little to do, and have so much longer terms of school. 
But tbey should bear in mind that there is no gain 
without great eifort on their part, and that prosperity 
is not a child of sloth. It may be that they neglect 

12 



162 INDIANA. 



their studies for the pleasures of the city, which are 
very enticing to the young and demoralizing in effect. 

Abraham Lincoln, who was nicknamed "The Rail- 
Splitter/'' was a country boy, and learned to read by 
the light of a tallow candle while his mother spun 
stocking yarn with her humming wheel. James A. 
Gariield was another, who drove a horse on the tow- 
path for a canal boat. And William Henry Harrison 
was another, who was dubbed the log cabin candidate. 
But still they arose to fame, and serve as a useful ex- 
ample to many a boy to encourage him in his efforts. 
But these are only a few of the many instances 
I might cite to you wliere farmers' boys have arisen 
to fame. Xo wonder that Robert Burns wrote: 
"Many a nol)le lieart beats beneath a ragged vest." 

I have noticed in our country towns that fewer of 
the boys rise to distinction than those of the country. 
The country boy rises early and feeds his father's 
stock, and hurries off to school on a winter's morning, 
with his cheeks as red as a rose l)y passing through the 
chilly blasts of winter. Xo wonder, under these cir- 
cumstances, and with such a struggle to brave the 
storm of life, they may become great and useful men. 
They get the physical as well as the mental training, 
which is just as essential for their future hnpniness. 
Colleges have built gymnasiums for their students to 
take exercise, and have groves to imitate the forests; 
but they fall far short of these natural environments. 



THE COUNTRY DOY. 163 

Also, the college bo3's have instituted a modern game 
of football, which borders just as close to heathenism 
as the gladiatorial shows of Greece and Rome or the 
arena of Mexico. 

It is true that a farmer's life is not all pleasure and 
happiness, but it affords many useful lessons that 
otherwise they would not get. Country life keeps 
boys away from the city until they are mature in 
3^ears, and then they are not so liable to learn the 
many vices, and slang phrases, which the city belle 
and dandy delight in using for mere pastime, for want 
of something better for the mind to work upon. The 
mind should always be emplo3'ed o:fi something whole- 
some or useful, for it is never at rest, and if not em- 
ployed it wanders on trivial things; and in the coun- 
try these useful things are always at hand, varying 
from the most beautiful to the sublime. You will 
notice that the Savior, in His beautiful parables and 
metaphors, always used these natural illustrations, 
and also all writers and poets, in their sweetest ;?ongs 
and pithy sarcasm, drew upon the most remarkable 
scenes of real life as a basis for their works. 

Country life instills into a person a desire for free- 
dom, and encouraged the Boston boys to defy General 
Gage and the redcoats when breaking their ice; and 
this same spirit enthused General Andrew Jackson tc 
decline to black an English officer's boots, for which 
he received a sword-cut wound that he carried to his 



164 INDIANA. 



gri:\e. It was this same spirit and ambition which 
animated Horatius to hold the bridge over the Tiber, 
leading to Rome, against a whole army, while two 
men cut it in two, and he then leaped into the river 
and swam to shore. And it was this same love of 
libert}^ that caused the people of Rome to crown 
Cincinnatus king while plowing in his field with a 
yoke of oxen; and when he had served his mission, he 
resigned his kingship and returned to his home — an 
heroic example for the world. So if you desire a 
great feat to be done, or a hardship to be borne, you 
will be safe in leaving it to a country boy. 



INTERURBAN RAILWAY. 

Riding on a street car. 

Speeded by a wire — 
Bless me ! it is pleasant 

Riding on the flyer. 

Passing on the highway, 

By the farm and dell, 
Viewing many pretty things. 

Scenes I love so well. 

Farmers, get you ready. 

And make this modern chan<(e 
It will enliven ev'ry product 

With which it is in range. 



THE MODKRN WOODMAN. 165 

Transported with your produce 

To a business town, 
Plenty in your pockets 

When markets quick are found. 

Eiding for a pittance — 

Bless me ! it is fun. 
Grant the needed franchise, 

And let the flyer come. 

Rural transportation 

Makes a business go; 
If you don't believe it, 

Try, and then you^ll know. 

The handy mileage station 

Accommodates the whole. 
And quickens all the pulses. 

And animates the soul. 



THE MODEEN WOODMAN". 

Woodman ! protect j^our wife 
From hunger and from shame; 

She is the jewel of your life. 
And bears your only name. 

Stand by her while you live. 
Protect her when alone ; 

True love to you she'll give, 
The idol of your home. 



166 INDIANA. 



Prepare that, when you're gone, 

Plenty will be there. 
The Woodman is toiling on 

With virtue pure and rare. 

Let not the children cry 

And disturb a mother's breast ; 

Be sure that when you die, 
Your policy gives them rest. 

Go join the brotherhood 

While you are hale and strong; 

There's none so pure and good 
To help poor souls along. 

There's plenty now in store 
For those who stand in need ; 

Ours is the shining shore. 
For friendship is our creed. 

neighbor ! sow the seed 

Of woodcraft throughout the land 

The union is not for greed, 
But to extend a helping hand. 

Let each mild zephyr blow 
Laden with rich perfume ; 

You by this incense know 

That friends surround your tomb. 

June 8, 1900. 



WHEN I WAS YOUNG. 167 



WHEN 1 WAS YOUNG. 

When I was young and checks were fair, 
I had a rustic woodland air ; 
I wandered o'er the shady hills, 
Where bloomed the pretty daffodils — 
When I was young. 

I strolled along the sparkling brook. 
For shining pebbles I would look; 
And many a pretty, shining shell 
I found and gave to little Nell — 
When I was young. 

I sought the pleasant woodbine shade, 
And played " keep store " with many a maid. 
This morn of life so soon was passed. 
It was so sweet it could not last — 
When I was young. 

In corded grapevines I would swing ; 
The woods with music loud did ring ; 
The very earth was all in tune ; 
'Twas just the fullness of life's noon — 
W^hen I was young. 

I went to school, a little man ; 
To play and romp was all my plan ; 
I threw sweet kisses 'cross the room 
x\t youth and beauty, bud and bloom — 
When I was young. 



168 INDIANA. 



But I have passed through all my teens, 
Yet youthful pleasures haunt my dreams. 
I'm standing by a purling brook, 
In its waters I stood to look — 
When I was young. 

My mind threw off its load of care, 
A boy again I'm standing there ; 
The moon expelled the shades of night, 
The shoals all gleamed with silver li^ht- 
When I was young. 



•■iD' 



My hair is streaked with shades of gray, 
No youthful pleasures now for aye. 
I long for days that ne'er can come, 
That once were full of joy and fun — 
When I was young. 

The wings of morning passed me by, 
And left me there alone to sigh 
And think how oft my feet had trod 
Along that brook with fishing rod — 
Wlien I was young. 



TO A BIRD. 1G9 



TO A BIKD. 

0, sing me a song, 

Sweet bird of my choice, 

And fill my dear soul 

With the notes of thy voice. 

Sitting high on a bough 

As it's tilting away, 
Let your sweet melody 

Be cheery to-day. 

Gay and light-hearted, 
Dear friend of the wood. 

Your songs so impress me 
With the lives of the good, 

And bring to my memory ^ 

The bright things of our May, 

W^hicli drive away sorrow 
As the sun lights the day. 

Yet brighter and brighter 
Are our lives at our home 

As the rays of pure sunshine 
In harmony are known. 

Like the song of the singer. 
Our heart must be pure. 

So loving, so childlike. 
If we would endure. 



170 INDIANA. 



Inspired is the singer 

Which you so much love. 
And the voice of the angels 

Now answers above. 

OUK FATHER. 

Our father sat in his easy-chair 

And whiled the time away ; 
His hair was white as the snow to the sight, 

An emblem of a better day. 

His youth was like the flowers that grow 

Along the purling brook ; 
But he's traveled sublime the sands of time, 

And taken a different look. 

His form was bent by the toil of years 

For the ones he loved the best ; 
It soothed his care with blessings rare 

As a treasure he saved for rest. 

•His children he loved, and guided each day. 
And taught them lessons of good ; 

But they have flown to homes of their own, 
Like the nestlings of the wood. 

He often mused o'er things gone by, 

When his wife was a bright-blooming flower, 

And the children would cry for a sweet lullaby 
From a voice like a falling star. 



WHEN THE PAWPAWS ARE RIPE. 



But she is gone to realms unknown, 

Where they know not of sorrow nor woe, 

To rest in peace with the queens of the East, 
Where never mortal can go. 

Our father — poor soul ! — with tottering step, 
Still yearns for the river of life. 

And is wandering at will up Zion's hill 
To meet his loved children and wife. 

WHEN THE PAWPAWS ARE EIPE. 

When the autumn days are coming. 
And it^s getting cool o' nights. 

Then I love to take a ramble, 
When the pawpaws are ripe. 

When the leaves are turning golden, 
Streaked in autumn's purest dight. 

Then I love to shake the bushes. 
When the pawpaws are ripe. 

Then the city chaps are coming, 
With their lasses tripping light. 

And they shake the clumps of bushes. 
When the pawpaws are ripe. 

Then the 'possum is getting sassy. 

And his coat is not so white ; 
And the colored coons are hunting, 

When the pawpaws are ripe. 



172 INDIANA. 



Then the 'possums climb the bushes. 
And they curl their tails aright 

Eound a limb that is richly laden. 
When the pawpaws are ripe. 

Glorious scenes of loving childhood. 
When our life is pure and bright. 

And we ramble in the forest 
When the pawpaws are ripe. 

These are pleasures worth recalling 
To the aged ones dim of sight, , 

For they hear the fun and laughter 
When the pawpaws are ripe. 

Like the papyrus reed of Egypt, 
These trees are passing out of sight, 

And there'll be no place for himting 
When the pawpaws are ripe. 

September 16, 1900. 



STICK TO YOUK CALLING. 

I have wandered to the town 
Where old Midas hung aronnd 

Long ago ; 
And the counters, filled, o'crflowing. 
Seemed like fortunes fast were growing 

By such show. 



STICK TO VOUR CAI^I^ING. 17< 

Ev'ry thing was neatly shining, 
While the merchant was repining 

At his trade ; 
Newer things were always coming, 
And the spindles sweet were humming 

In the shade. 

Bnt poor labor it was wanting — 
Idle show is always vaunting 

In its way. 
Don't believe in vain appearing, 
Xor sweet stories you are hearing 

Ev'ry day. 

Stick to your humble calling, 
It just needs some overhauling 

For the time; 
Don't believe in this or that, 
Nor the fame of some grown fat 

In Klondike clime. 

All will surely come out well, 
As we've heard the poet tell 

To a friend; 
Stick the closer to your trade. 
Then your fortune will be made 

In the end. 

Never let bold specters rise 
To allure you otherwise 
Than the right ; 



174 INDIANA. 



They are like some wanton boys 
Playing idly with their toys 
To the sight. 

Eolling stones ne'er gather moss ; 
Like the breakers, they are tossed 

O'er the lea. 
But if you would make a start. 
From each day just set apart. 

Small it be. 

Floating bubbles soon will burst, 
And the surface look the worse 

For their life. 
Little treasure can exist 
By our taking too much risk 

In such strife. 

The illusive Eldorado 

May be swept, like a tornado, 

Far away ; 
But by holding to each penny, 
You will have bright dollars many 

For a stay. 

February 26, 1900. 

MY SWEETHEART OF LONG AGO. 

I once had a sweetheart — 

In my youth of long ago ; 
'Twas in my school days that I met her, 

And true love was wont to flow. 



MY SWEETHKART OF I,ONG AGO. J 75 



My heart was young and tender. 

And she was blithe and gay, 
And I always sought her company 

When the time would come to play. 

We would hunt the pretty mosses 

And the flowers of brilliant hue 
Which were emblems of affection 

In the hearts of lovers true. 
We would write our little verses, 

Which we passed across the room ; 
They were sweeter than the daisies 

Or the lilies full in bloom. 

Ev'ry word was but a picture, 

Like a crystal in the snow — 
From the heart a true inscription. 

As young lovers' hearts o'er flow. 
And the kisses that I threw her 

She would answer just the same ; 
From her lips as pure as nectar, 

Like sweet honeydew they came. 

We played many a game of ball. 

Which we called " three-cornered cat ; " 
And she always did the striking. 

For I would not take the bat. 
She would laugh and shake her tresses 

As she shyly glanced at me, 
With such pretty, roselike dimples 

On her cheeks so fair to see. 



170 



We would often " drop the kerchief." 

I ran the circuit round and round 
Until I came behind my May, 

Then I dropped the kerchief down. 
She had many a graceful charm, 

With brow so fair and eyes so mild ; 
Her life was like a rippling stream 

On which Dame Nature looked and smiled. 

We would run the '^ circling mill," 

And tap the chosen on the back ; 
Then would come a race competing, 

Running round the miller's track. 
If we caught the tagging miller, 

He must still keep in the race 
Until he beat the one in running 

And got within the vacant place. 

" Wood tag," too, was a favorite game 

With the gayer boys and girls. 
I would always watch my May, 

With her waving, glossy curls ; 
If she stepped upon the ground. 

She would get a gentle tap ; 
Then she must become the catcher 

Until she caught a heedless chap. 

" Black man " then w^s on the schedule 
As we spent our time in play ; 
We would run and catch each other 
And would while the time awav. 



MY SWEETHEART OF LONG AGO. 177 

Ev'ry day was like a springtime, 

Full of many buds and flowers — 
Merrymaking, full of sunshine, 

Which adorned youth's happy hours. 

Often we would have a " spelling," 

And invite our neighboring schools; 
We would try our best to beat them, 

No matter what would be the rules. 
We chose these times to get together 

And to meet the charming lass; 
You could hea.r the gayest laughter 

As the bells and cutters passed. 

We would hang around the doorway 

To see the boys hunt out a mate. 
Some would hang on like a tether, 

And some would get a hearty shake ; 
Then the boys would laugh and titter 

As the girls would shy away. 
Those with grit would try another, 

For their hearts were blithe and gay„ 

Often we would have a party 

In the neighborhood around; 
Ev'ry youngster in the country 

Would be there so hale and sound. 
We would choose our favorite lasses 

For the tune of " weevly wheat ; " 
Up and down the floor we tripped it, 

Planting kisses on their cheeks. 



178 INDIANA. 



The '• miller boy " was a favorite pastime, 

AVith a pawn above your head; 
The owner mnst some way 'redeem it 

With three yards of tape instead. 
Every yard must have a marking 

With a stamp of loving bliss. 
Nothing could be half so jolly 

As we gave the meting kiss. 

We sometimes made a " double shovel, 

Or a flaring " sugar bowl ; " 
It was a scene so fit for laughing 

As the parties took their toll ; 
Everything went off as lovely 

As though a rabbit's foot of charm 
Played the part of merrymaking 

With the youngsters from the farm. 

" Post office/' too, seemed just in order, 

With two watchdogs at the door; 
If the wrong one was approaching. 

Then the sentinels barked the more. 
But some mail is in the office, 

And some one must go and see ; 
If the right one is approaching, 

The vicious curs will silent be. 

But there came a day of sorrow. 

When the term of school must close, 

And we little, Vouthful lovers 
Felt the pangs of parting woes ; 



JENNIK'S RIDE. 179 



i\nd erelong there came another 
From a village by the sea. 

And I never could recover 
The old love May had for me. 

He was tall and very handsome, 

And his heart was full of glee ; 
And he stole the heart of May, 

Which I thought she had for me. 
But I'll always long to see her, 

For the dart of Cupid shines 
While a spark of life is glowing 

And the loving heart repines. 



JENNIE'S EIDE. 

Little Jennie rode a " bike " 
Like an arrow down the pike. 
She is blithe as any roe, 
Cheeks as sweet as billet-doux. 

Many a lad in passing by 
Cast a look of longing eye. 
And vied with envy as they passed 
The charming beauty of the lass. 

Now one joins the maiden's side 
For a pleasant talk and ride ; 
They are moving on — first slow. 
Then faster, faster still they go. 



180 



INDIANA. 



The speed is turning to a chase, 
And many a rider joins the race ; 
Jennie's beauty, tried and true, 
Is the idol of the crew. 



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JENNIE'S RIDE. 



She is gaining on the crowd. 
Shout on shout is heard aloud, 
And the champion by her side 
Is behind about a stride. 



" THK BARD OF ALAMO." 18i 

But he tries and tries in vam ; 
She will heat him, just the same. 
Then she glanced l)ack at her chum — 
Half in earnest, half in fun. 

Now they reach a country town. 
Telephones had brought it down ; 
All are out in mass to see. 
Jennie laughed so heartily. 

She had beat the bandy legs, 
And carried safe a crate of eggs 
From her little cottage home. 
Where in pleasure she did roam. 

Now, you boys with head in whirl 
Must never race a country girl ; 
For the vigor they possess 
Speeds a " bike " like the express. 

March 16, 1900. 

"THE BARD OF ALAMO." 

Illustrious living, mighty dead, 

Famous in war or peace. 
Now cover your diminished head 

And let your paeons cease. 
Your laurels bring, your garlands weave. 

And fitting praise bestow 
Upon our modern prince of verse, 
" The Bard of Alamo." 



1S2 



Ye men of wisdom and renown. 

In distant lands or near, 
Who wield the scepter, wear the crown. 

And rule by love or fear ; 
Give praise to him whose lines in clear 

Exquisite cadence flow 
As fresh and crisp as mountain air, 
^^The Bard of Alamo." 

Ye glittering hosts of classic stars 

That deck the sky of fame, 
Welcome to your proud galaxy 

One who deserves the name ; 
And e'en you lesser lights, a due 

Appreciation show 
Of him who wears the poet's crown, 
" The Bard of Alamo/' 

By a Friend. 



THE LADIES' ATHENIAN^ CLUB. 

All hail the ladies of Crawfordsville 

For the nohle work they do ! 
They seem to have the force of will 

For the club and belles-lettres, too. 
They teach the lessons as they ought, 

As mothers fraught with care. 
And bring from chaos and from naught 

Good blessings ev'rywhere. 



THK I.AD1ES' ATHKNIAN CI.U15. 183 

Athens was thought to be the place 

Of all learning and of power; 
But here we find it in tlie chase 

And in the gilded tower. 
Give your noble work renown, 

As women think they should, 
And seek for knowledge in the town 

And in the sylvan wood. 

Teach thy lessons by precept 

And reading precious books ; 
Give the mind time to reflect 

And to permeate the nooks. 
Let your work go on and on, 

And bring more to the fold; 
Xever let a chance be gone 

But shines like a gem of gold. 

Then you're building to the sky 

For women and mortal men ; 
Seek to win the glorious prize 

And take along your ken ; 
Learn to know that in our noon 

Is the time to work and build, 
Before this life or setting sun 

Sinks 'neath the western hills. 

January 18, 1900. 

(Written for the Ladies' Athenian Club, of Crawfordsville.) 



184 INDIANA. 



DE OL' PLANTATION. 

I long fur cle oV plantation, 
Wicl de mornin's cheery song. 

When onr massa fed and cloved ns. 
And de mule jest poked along ; 

And we j'ined de birds in de chorus, 
As we went our labors through, 

Wid de warbles ob de mornin: 

" T-la-e, t-la-e, t-la-e-hoo ! " 

Den we picked de downy cotton 
Wid de buxom cullud chile, 

An' oV massa kept a-trottin', 
But we's sparkin' all de while ; 

An' we thought about de cabin 
Whar we used to lub an' coo. 

An' we played an' sung ob eb'nin's : 

" T-la-e, t-la-e, t-la-e-hoo ! " 

0, de blackbirds sing no sweeter 
Dan de happy cullud coon ; 

Dah can be no better meter 
Dan de cotton-pickin' tune. 

It brings back de ol' plantation, 
Wid its scenes so clear to view ; 

I can hear de echoes ringin' : 

" T-la-e, t-la-e, t-la-e-hoo ! " 



DE OI.' PLANTATION. 185 

So I 'joyed myself in pleasure 

'Til ol' massa sol' my Cloe, 
Den I got my traps togedder 

An' I started for Canido; 
But I nebber can fergit her, 

An' de pickaninnies, too, 
An' de mornin' dat I lef her — 
" T-la-e, t-la-e, t-la-e-hoo ! " 

Now my heart is sad an' tender 

Fur de one I's lef behin'. 
But I allers will remember 

Dat good ol' sunny clime ; 
But now I's sad an' lonely, 

An' my heart is throbbin', too. 
For dear Cloe to jine de chorus : 
" T-la-e, t-la-e, t-la-e-hoo ! " 

Now I's gwine to Mississippi, 

An' hunt ol' Dixie through 
For my darlin' Cloe an' Kittie, 

An' I will my lub renew. 
Her lips were like molasses. 

An' my arms aroun' her fle"Wc> 
An' I sung as noble Croesus : 
'' T-la-e, t-la-e, t-la-e-hoo ! " 



186 



LAWTOX'S BRIGADE. 

Brave Lawton strove to do his best 

In peace or deadly war. 
And by his men was ever blessed — 

A coward he did abhor. 
The cannon boomed about his tent. 

The shrapnels whistled, too, 
And through his lines they made a rent. 

But brave were the boys in blue. 

The bugle call was sounded then. 

The copse was just behind ; 
Lawton called unto his men : 
" Fall in line ! Fall in line ! " 
They soon obeyed the General's call 

And plied the shining steel ; 
A shower of American minie balls 

Made the Philippinos reel. 

" Charge ! Forward ! Give them the bayonet ! " 
Their hearts beat quick and fast. 
Click, click, click ! — the dagger is set. 
Then forward they go in mass. 
" Steady, boys ; steady, steady, steady ; 
Carry your solid ranks." 
They extend their lines ; then all is ready ; 
No chance to turn their flanks. 



LAWTON'S BRIGADE. 187 

They meet in deadly combat there. 

And fight right hand to hand ; 
Some are pierced through with the spear. 

And some bleed on the sands. 
They waver then and break away, 

Onr heroes follow aft'; 
We win again in mortal fray, 

The mongrels sore we pressed. 

On, brave boys, on — on ! 

We mean to do or die. 
A noble vict'ry you have won 

Beneath this tropic sky.'' 
A private cautioned brave Lawton then 

Sharpshooters were so near ; 
But in the jungle or the glen. 

He laughed at thought of fear. 

He turned around to give commands, 

Which were his last behest ; 
The noble soul threw up his hands. 

For a ball had pierced his breast. 
He fell back in a comrade's arms, 

For they had loved him best 
Who saw him fight, and knew his charms 

Surpassed quite all the rest. 

His las^ words were : " Push on the cause ! 

Think of your native land, 
Which has such pure and wholesome laws. 

And spurns th' oppressor's hand. 



188 INDIANA. 



Go tell my wife that here I die 
The death of a soldier brave ; 

And tell her not to mourn and cry — 
We'll meet beyond the grave/' 

That night a woman's heart beat fast 

And throbbed at her aching breast. 
As she offered np a last sad prayer 

For the one she loved the best : 
'^ God, wilt thou take my husband home 

To reign with the saints above, 
And crown him heir around the throne. 

Where Christ is light and love ? " 

That mother now is left alone, 

An ideal nation's love ; 
A light has all around her shone. 

Which does our blessings prove. 
She ne'er can want, for gen'rous hands 

Are ready to bestow 
All the gifts of a Christian land 

On one who met the foe. 

ianuary 30,1900. 

THE POET. 

The poet lives in thoughts above 

The blue ethereal sky; 
His thoughts are close akin to love 

When Nature meets his eye. 



THE POET. 138 



He fancies many a thing of art 
Beyond the sculptor's hand ; 

Grand and noble, pure at heart, 
The greatest gift to man. 

Things which please are at his will, 
And colored highly, too; 

He must portray them mirrored still 
To the patient reader^s view. 

He goes beyond the average soul. 
Where saints immortal reign. 

And hears sweet songs of music roll, 
And joins the sweet refrain. 

He peers in space just as it were 

A fairy's golden lane. 
Traveled by some sea nymphs rare, 

And gives to each a name. 

Inspired are they who sing sweet lays 
By the great invisible choir, 

Who write and sing in holy praise 
To the echoes of David's* lyre„ 

Born they are with songs of cheer 
In words of sweetest rhythm. 

Breathing melodies to the ear 
So near akin to heaven. 

February 8, 1900. 

* David is the oldest poet known. 



190 INDIANA. 



A SONNET. 

The mill of time ^^rinds slowly, 
Yet it grinds both great and small. 
From the pressure of the fall. 
Where the rushing waters flow. 
Onward, onward, it will go 
To the deep, unf athomed sea. 
Grinding, grinding it will be 
Where the pearl and rubies glow ; 
Yet there must come time to rest. 
When the Master grinds the grist 
And the flour is made just so, 
In the good we find the best — 
Not a mixed or speckled list, 
Like the mill that grinds below. 

January 30, 1900. 



OUR BABY. 

Little baby in the crib, 
Playing nicely with his bib. 
He is pretty, I declare. 
With such flowing curly hair ; 
Just the image of his ma, 
Blue eyes shining like his pa ; 
He will coo a little song, • 
Happy elfin all day long. 



OUR BABY, 191 



0, the pretty dimpled cheeks ! 
Mamma kiss 'em 'cause they're sweet. 
Lips like ruby — glowing, too — 
Just as sweet as honeydew ; 
Light is beaming from his eyes. 
Shine like sparkles in the sky — 
A little cherub from above. 
Purest tie of family love. 

Look up, baby, let me see 
Our sweet darling full of glee. 
Playing in his willow cot. 
Sweetest little forget-me-not. 
Like a rose we cherish him. 
Tap him lightly on the chin. 
Then he will look up and coo — 
Brighter days we never knew. 

Play on, baby; let us see; 
You're as pure as angels be. 
Jabbering as he tries to talk. 
Feet a-longing for to walk. 
Stand up, darling; do not fear; 
Take a step for mamma, dear. 
But he topples and will fall ; 
First the baby learns to crawl. 

Guy or Clarence is his name ; 
Angels brought him as they came 
From the dotted starry sky 
For his mamma's longing eye. 



192 



He will fondle on her breast, 
With her arm about him pressed. 
Never can a sunbeam fall, 
But it shines a light for all. 

February 12, 1900. 

LIFE. 

Life is like a bubbling spring 

Flowing onward as a brook, 
With myriad voices echoing 

Along its course from ev'ry nook ; 
Yet smoothly flow the waters by 

Where grasses grow and gently wave. 
The wind blows calmly with a sigh 

Where fishes bask and children lave. 

Beautiful scenes lie along the stream 

As you travel down the living fount, 
A shining light in the distance gleams 

As the purling waters are tossed about 
Now 'tis running eddy-smooth, 

Anon 'tis dashing onward down. 
And, chafing in its narrow groove, 

A voice is heard of murm'ring sound. 

So it is with the living soul 
Moving onward o'er the brake. 

Striving, yearning to reach the goal. 
Like the river to the lake. 



LIFE. 198 

It must pass some stony place, 

Where breakers heave and billows toss; 
So near akin to the human race, 
, 'No life endures without some loss. 

Dewdrops sparkle in the sun, 

A gleam of light shines in the deep, 

No time to rest till life is run 
And it has gone where sages sleep. 

So the river runs its way 
Onward, onward to the sea ; 

Never can it stop and say : 

" I'm content, so let me be/' 

Let us do our might to-day. 

Time well spent is never lost ; 
Light of heart and always gay 

Will save the ship where breakers toss. 
Stand at the helm and watch the fate 

Of those who never look for flaws. 
And keep in view the Beautiful Gate, 

Observing pure Nature's laws. 

So runs the stream of life alway 

To reach the mystic realm above. 
Still achieving, still w^e may. 

Where hearts are full of perfect love. 
Never let vague phantoms rise 

To mar the ties of friendship true; 
But wing thy way beyond the skies, , 

Where Christ i * glory beckons you. 

February 24, 1900. 



194 INDIANA. 



POETS AEE BOKN, NOT MADE. 

Worry wc may, if we wish, 

At the favoritism displayed; 
No use to kick 'gainst the pricks. 

For poets are born, not made. 

The Muses, so lavish with favors, 

With garlands and crowns have arrayed 

The children of favored Montgomery, 
For poets are bom, not made. 

The place of our birth condemns us, 
The gods would lend us no aid ; 

Parnassus slopes up from Montgomery, 
And poets are born, not made. 

We reverence do to " Old Wabash," 
We would walk in her classical shade ; 

But she is unable to help us, 
For poets arc born, not made. 

We've tried it again and again, 
For inspiration we've prayed; 

But failure our portion forever. 
For poets are born, not made. 

0, happy, happy Montgomery ! 

Till our debt to Nature be paid 
We never shall cease to regret 

That poets are born, not made. 



THE BUGGY. 195 



Write it in letters of fire, 

In letters that never can fade — 

Yes, letters of fire will answer — 
That poets are bom, not made. 

THE BUGGY. 

If you desire a buggy 

To ride and give you rest, 

You should buy an "A" grade; 
It certainly is the best. 

It is just a dandy, 

If 3^ou desire to call 
And escort your best girl 

To a country ball. 

You have nothing for to fear. 
It is so good and strong ; 

It is on a perfect gear, 
You swiftly glide along. 

The wheels are shining, glist'ning, 
Humming as they run ; 

The boys are all a-hustling, 
Want to buy them one. 

Then they are contented, 

Happy, it does seem ; 
Plenty of caresses 

Just behind the screen. 



196 



" BEN HUR " IN DRAMA. 

James B. Elmore, the poet of the brakes and braes 
of bonnie Ripley, was in town the other day, and left 
a few verses at the Journal office. " I offer these as 
a tribute to Lew. Wallace," said he, " as I want to 
encourage cordiality and fellowship among the lit- 
erati of this part of the country. There is no reason 
why we should not live together as brothers and kin- 
dred spirits, as our tastes and aspirations and work 
are along the same lines. I do not know the General 
very w^ll yet; but as soon as I get ni}^ corn under 
cover and poison a few pesky ground hogs that are 
raising hob out on the farm, I am coming in and 
establish the entente cordiale. I want to give the 
General all the encouragement I can, and I wrote 
these pleasant lines out to boost ' Ben Hur ' on the 
stage and to let folks know that there is no meanness 
or jealousy among literary men such as is found 
among other professions." The poem, goes like this : 

" Halloo, Benjamin Hur ! Where goest thou ? " 
" Like a divorced wife, to the stage just now." 
" What is to be done, that you are so arrayed ? " 
" The show has jnst begun in dress parade. 

You know that in the arena I fame have won. 
So on the stage the race I'll run ; 
Bring on the orchestra and start the play. 
And behold my steeds so fleet and gay." 



IIKN HUR IN DRAMA. 



197 



Grasp those lines, old hero, sir, 
And show ns the mettle of Benjamin Hur. 
Melchisedec of old had no more praise, 
"With no beginning of time nor end of da^'s. 




THE RACE OF BEN HUR. 



Behold the chariot wreathed in gold. 
And the clashing of armor as of old ; 
The gayest steeds are hitched to the pole. 
And quick to the contest the race to nnfold. 

Now in the arena Benjamin great laurels has won. 
The wreath of honor to him was flung ; 
And many were they who tried to compete 
With the chieftain in this most wonderful feat. 



198 INDIANA, 



Hurrah, hurrah ! They go, and Benjamin is forcing 

ahead ; 
Cheer after cheer was echoed with fear as faster and 

faster they sped — 
The most beautiful scene that one could behold. 
And the race of Ben Hur will ever be told. 

The horses are running with nostrils spread wide — 

say, isn't it a beautiful glide ? 

There goes the hero, with streamers of red. 

The length of his chariot in distance ahead. 

Waneda, his darling, is waving a sign 
As the hero is passing the three-quarter line ; 
But Messala — poor fellow! — is lying aground, 
For Bennie has hubbed him and turned him 
around. 

He is speeding ahead and cannot look back. 
Wild echoes are ringing in the wake of his track. 
And yet he is nudging the steeds all the time 
Until he has reached the end of the line. 

No rag-time race will he ever run, 

For now is the time his laurels are won ; 

And many bouquets are tossed to the sage, 

And, kneeling, he is crowned as king of the stage. 



A SONNET. 19» 



The race is completed with echoing cheer ; 
The horses were running, the people did fear; 
And the hero is standing in his chariot aright 
And pulling the reins like the string of a kite. 

Whoa, brave boys ; whoa, I say ! 

Where is our rival, I pray ? " 

He is lying back there in a pool of his gore, 

Never again to race any more. 

Hurrah for Ben Hur ! Hurrah for the race ! 
Hurrah for Lew. Wallace, who started the chase 
And gave us this play — the best of the age — 
The grandest of scene that is now on the stage ! 

A SONNET. 

The rose that shines with brightest hue 
And nods with splendor in the breeze 
Is the most beautiful thing to please ; 
But 'tis known it only drew 
Its richness from the place it grew, 
Down in the little sunny dell. 
Where little brooklets leap and swell 
While passing onward gently through. 
So it is with mortal man. 
Passing onward o'er the shoal. 
Freighted with best riches known. 
Gathering stores where'er he can, 
Things which make a perfect soul. 
Building of a perfect home. 



:90 INDIANA. 



ACEOSTIC. 

Many a precious little thought 
Adores the one for which I sought. 
Kamblmg is my mind at rest ; 
Youthful pleasures are the best. 
All along the sands of time, 
No one knows the heart sublime ; 
No one knows the aches of mine, 
Everlasting to endure. 
Leisurely I sought the pure. 
Memory now recalls anew 
Orange blossoms tried and true ; 
Eoses bloom and brighter grow. 
Engraved on my memory so. 

WHAT THE HOOSIEE SEES IN CHICAGO 

The Hoosier goes to Chicago 

To see the sights, and then 
He treasures up his heart's delights 

And then comes home again. 
The first that meets the longing eyes 

Is the smoke from a thousand flues, 
And next you see the rolling tide 

Of the lake and waving sloughs; 

Statues of our bravest men 

And monuments of pride, 
Their sarcophagus laid beneath 

The image steed they ride ; 



WHAT THE HOOSIER SEES IN CHICAGO. 201 

A legion of all-colored lights 

In names and divers shapes — 
•Tis like the starry galaxy 

When everything's in state. 

There are bridges of quaint design. 

And aqueducts so grand, 
And arches at the ending streets, 

.Where people throng the strand 
And watch the vessels coming in 

Of all the different kinds ; 
The little bark which plies the lake 

Recalls our boyhood times. 

The lighthouse standing in the deep 

x\nd twinkling like a star 
Is to the inland observer new, 

His mind goes out afar. 
The buildings, too, above your head 

Will make you gasp and sigh — 
When you are in the Masonic Temple, 

Just twenty-two stories high. 

The Great Northern Hotel is grand indeed, 

Its organ pipes aloud ; 
'Tis like the rolling thunder's echo 

Along the distant cloud. 
Then there is a beautiful place 

With palms and music to please ; 
Its name is just " Blue Ribbon Saloon," 

Its frequenters it will deceive. 



202 INDIANA. 



The Board of Trade is an exciting place. 

You cannot hear at all ; 
Their voices change from high to low 

x\s the margins rise and fall. 
Some go broke, and some have made. 

And some still bid away ; 
And some possess a wan, sad face. 

Expressed by "Alackaday ! " 

You pass along to Lincoln Park, 

The grandest place of yore ; 
A perfect earthly paradise. 

With treasures rich in store. 
There are water ways and acqueducts. 

And plants from every zone 
Inside a grand glass crystal palace. 

And thrive just like at home. 

The museum_, too, is fraught with things 

And many curious arts — 
A perfect school to observing men. 

Developing their minds and hearts. 
Along the boulevard the hansoms run 

And carry the " upper crust," 
While the common people walk along 

And view Tecumseh's bust. 

There stands the novel Ferris Wheel, 

A band of human freight ; 
'Tis propelled by sprocket wheels 

At a thirty-minute rate. 



ACROSTIC. 203 



You see all this on any day, 

. And many other scores ; 
The toper, too, has hilarious times 
When vice has open doors. 

You meet the people on the street ; 

They talk in divers ways — 
Some with accent on the " r's," 

And some are on the " a's.'' 
It seems to he a Babel new 

The heavens soon to reach, 
Where God Almighty did diffuse 

The different kinds of speech. 



ACEOSTIC. 

Just a little pleasure 
Essential to our care ; 
Rays of brightest sunshine, 
Rays so rich and rare. 
You possess a brilliant life ; 
Knowing it is true, 
Evenly you scan the right, 
Especially the new ; 
Nothing can obstruct the sight 
Your optic pierces through. 



204 INDIANA. 



ACROSTIC. 

All is not gold that glitters, 

Long with brilliancy it may shine ; 

Beautiful things are mixed with bitter, 

Even in garb of dress sublime. 

Rich it is to glow with brightness, 

Touch of Nature pure and kind ; 

Cunning art but still and sightless, 

Unobserved in chambered mind. 

Xow and then the light reflected 

Nearer brings the thinking soul — 

[n our minds far retrospected 

N'igh unto the starting goal. 

Gayer then, no thoughts but leisure ; 

Heavy loads were slight aiul rare ; 

All our thoughts were fraught with pleasure. 

Manhood attained^ some burdens share. 



SUGAR-MAKING SONG. 

When the frost begins to slacken 

And old Winter has lost his grip. 
Then the maples quit their cracking 

And the sap begins to drip. 
You can hear the pitter-patter 

In the vessel down below, 
As the little droplets clatter 

In a circlino: tidal flow. 



SUGAR-MAKING SONG. 



^Tis a sweet and flowing nectar, 

Like the Avine that Jupiter sips, 
And I love to be inspector 

As I press it to my lips ; 
And we fill the tankards flowing 

Till it sparkles as of old, 
And the bubbles keep a-glowing 

With a tint of shining gold. 

The south wind joins the chorus 

In the songs of humming bees. 
And the blue jay flits before us 

In the swinging boughs of trees. 
And the violets nod at leisure 

As they bloom down by the brink, 
And the chipmunk skips at pleasure 

In the secret hidden chink. 

And as cooler grows the evening. 

There will icicles grow 
As the sap is slowly leaving 

The spiles in gentle flow ; 
And the downy-budded willows 

That are standing by the brook 
Are reflected in the shallows 

With a sort of silver look. 

Then the screech owl shrieks a whistle 

In a solemn sort of way. 
And the goldfinch on the thistle 

Sings a song of parting day; 



206 INDIANA. 



Then the camp fire shines the hrighter 
As the sparks in myriads rise, 

And all hearts are gay with laughter 
As the darkness dims onr eyes. 

Then the hick'ry torches sputter 

As we change them in our hands ; 
^Long the road the fire we scatter 

From the glowing, shining brands. 
Then the mud will splash ar.d spatter, 

But it matters not, you see ; 
It just takes this clash and clatter 

For the youthful cup of glee. 

Men are wont to sing in praises 

Of their youth of long ago. 
When their hearts were full of graces 

And the sweetest blessings flow ; 
But the toil of passing years 

Shows upon their furrowed brow, 
And with sadness blends a tear 

As they think of then and now. 



SUGAR MAKING. 

Haul out the kettles and place the metal 

O'er a fiery furnace 'neath ; 
Your hands will nettle as the mortar you settle 

And make their casing sheath. 



SUGAR MAKING. 



207 



Bring on some stone and build a cone 
To carry the smoke above ; 

Then you have known a sugar home, 
Which children dearly love. 





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SUGAR MAKING. 



Go tap the trees — 'twill give you ease — 
And place the vessels below; 

There are rhythm-tu-rees and honeybees 
When the sap begins to flow. 



208 INDIANA. 



Eat-tat-tat ! — you hear the pat 
Of the nectar striking below ; 

There is a pit-a-pat and a sound like that 
As we gather it to and fro. 

The children scout and run about, 

And sip the flowing sweets ; 
They pick the route and gayly shout 

When in such pleasant retreats. 
There are turkey pease and childish glees. 

And moss from brake and braes ; 
We cry aloud and join the crowd 

And sing in childish ways. 

The goldfinch's flight is our delight 

Across the heath and wood ; 
We turn and look in every nook, 

As children think they should. 
The squirrel, too, from his burrow fleWy 

And slyly kind o' hid ; 
We climbed the tree and tried to see 

What little Bunny did. 

Our fathers toil and kettles boil. 

Sweet-scented is the steam ; 
We children foil a chance so royal 

And watch the kettles teem. 
We stir the wax until it cracks. 

Then pour it out to cool ; 
Its strands relax like breaking flax^, 

When pulling, as a rule. 



SUGAR MAKING. 209 



When the sirup puffs, it is enough, 

The sugar-making degree ; 
You stir the stuff with ladle rough, 

Then granulated 'twill be. 
The sugar is made and work is stayed. 

The refining is surely done. 
We think it paid for what we made 

Sweet dreams of childish fun. 

These youthful days we always praise 

As being the gem of life ; 
The water ways and roundelays 

Never knew of toil and strife. 
The violets blue and maidens true 

All sung with gentle strain ; 
Their hearts all knew sweet anthems, too;' 

Their echoes still remain. 

The warp and woof was our behoof. 

The sun the shuttle plied. 
The vaulted roof was high aloof 

Where the solar planets glide. 
The new of the moon is the harvest tune 

When the sap runs best, they say ; 
But the wily coon won't tap too soon, 

For the wood just dries away. 

Januari' 10, 1900. 

14 



210 INDIANA. 



ACROSTIC. 

Just a little witty 
Erases much of gloom ; 
Sure, it makes a ditty 
Sweet road to royal bloom. 
Ease is not a pleasure, 
Greatness makes a man; 
Rare as is our leisure, 
Energy shows a hand ; 
Esteem is a golden measure 
Now known in ev'ry land. 



ABIGE AND TURKEY TOM. 

Come, old Tom, let's have some fun. 

And play around about ; 
I will go, then you may come 

x\nd join me on the route. 

You shake your head and gobble, too. 

As big as any man ; 
I'll catch you by the neck, if you 

Will only bravely stand. 

Ker-ert ! ker-ert ! — you're talking, too ; 

I do not understand. 
You bugaboo, I'll throw at you ; 

You've pecked me on the hand. 



ABIGK AND TURKKY TOM. 



211 



Now sidle ofl and come again, 
With dangling red goatee ; 

You think you'll boss now, if you can, 
Or cockerel fi2flit with me. 




ABIQE AND TURKEY TOM. 



Come on, old boy ; I'm ready now. 
And give the starting shout. 

He sallied in — I don't know how — 
And got me on the snout. 



212 INDIANA. 



Now, you see, it isn't fair 

To strike below the waist. 
Or pull my flowing curly hair. 

Or pick me in the face. 

Then I thought I'd start and run 

As fast as I could sail ; 
The gobbler, too, joined in the fun 

And caught my jacket tail. 

Then mamma came, with broom in hand, 

To stop the running fight. 
And wielded it as women can, 

And loudly laughed outright. 

He stood aloof and gobbled loud, 
As though he'd won the fight ; 

He strutted round like Lucifer proud- 
A showy, gaudy sight. 

January 16, 1900. 



213 



MUSIC. 

Music is the science and art of musical tones or of 
musical sounds. From the earliest stages of an- 
tiquity there seems to have been some kind of music 
to blend with the sympathies of appreciative man. 
You may go among any of the peoples of the world, 
and they will have some kind of music. The orients, 
or ancients, used principally the musical harp, such 
as David played in the presence of the remorseful 
king for his amusement. We read in the sacred 
writings of vocal and instrumental music. We have 
different kinds of music to affect or influence the dif- 
ferent feelings of mankind. The cheerful or lively 
music animates the soul of the young and brings 
every nerve and muscle into motion and satisfies their 
childlike nature. Then we have the solemn or sa- 
cred music, which so affects the soul or inward man 
to its more tender sympathies. Even the savages 
have some kind of music to meet their necessities; 
they must have it in their councils of war and of 
peace. And civilized man, in time of a nation's 
greatest peril, may hesitate to take up his country's 
cause : but when the fife plays and the drum beats the 
call to enlist, he can resist no longer, but is ready to 
face death, if need be, by the inspiration these instru- 
ments have imparted to him. 

There is no living thing which has a voice but 
makes some tone of the musical scale. It is a pleas- 



211 INDIANA. 



ure to listen to the beautiful birds as they hold their 
morning matinees, giving us a very pleasing variety 
of their sweet, musical voices. Even the cawing crow 
plays an important part in the harmonious world, 
but it remains for the mocking bird to fill one's soul 
with rapture and delight. 

Music has almost magical effect upon some ani- 
mals as well as man. You can notice that they either 
show signs of delight or remorse. The faithful dog 
may set up a pitiful howl on hearing music, which 
in some way affects his nervous system, and even 
reptiles will show an uneasiness on hearing certain 
strains of music. 

It remains for civilized man to perfect the gcale of 
music. The modern organ and pianoforte reach the 
top of the scale when the beautiful pieces of mod- 
ern music are rendered, so rich and sublime, so de- 
lightful to the human soul. 

Next to pure life, music is calculated to make man 
happy. The hearing of good music shapes our hearts 
to love God and man better; and if clouds of gloom 
or despondency come over us, music will bring back 
the beautiful rays of sunlight and make us again 
happy and glad that we live in such a harmonious 
world as this, with such beautiful strains of music 
blending in harmony and making the heart of man 
so light and cheery. It is so like love, the golden 
cord which binds the heart of man to the throne of 
God. 



215 



The world has had some great authors who wrote 
and played under very trying circumstances. Bee- 
thoven, whose windows of the soul were closed to the 
beauties of Nature, led a very useful life. He wrote 
many excellent pieces of music which will live forever. 
In old age, having been driven from home, he was 
traveling through Germany, and, unknown, stopped 
at a house and begged lodging. In the evening a 
young lady played and sung one of his most won- 
derful productions, and he exclaimed : " I wrote that 
music ! " He made himself known to them, and died 
at that home, nursed by their tender hands and hon- 
ored as one of the world's greatest pilgrims and musi- 
cians. Eobert Schumann was educated for a lawyer. 
Disliking that profession, he learned to play music; 
but one of his fingers being defective, he learned to 
write music, and he so fascinated a young ]ady musi- 
sian upon whom he called to play his productions 
that she married him, and so combined two of the 
world's most renowned people. But, like Beethoven, 
he was very unfortunate, for the great productions 
which he wrote so wrought upon him that he lost his 
mind; but his loving partner never deserted him, 
and well proved woman's fidelity and devotion to one 
of the greatest of modern musicians. 

The female voice is the most perfect of all vocal 
music, and is so wonderful and pleasing to the soul. 

Andre, the explorer, had his wife sing in a phono- 
graph, so that he could hear her sweet, musical voice 



216 INDIANA, 



when he was taking his fatal trip to the Arctic re- 
gions. We have often read of the sweet sirens who 
sung so beautifully as to lure the unwary sailors to 
the dangers of the lonely isles, from whence they 
never returned. 

National airs played in time of war make men 
face deadly foes when otherwise they might fear 
their task. After the battle at El Caney, Cuba, the 
wounded were taken to the battle ships, and the bands 
began to play " The • Star-spangled Banner," and 
many a dying soldier shouted and waved his hands 
for the Union flag and his country as he drew his 
last faint breath. Men, when their hearts are filled 
with good music, are inspired to do greater and nobler 
deeds. The poor blind beggar in the street depends 
upon how he moves the hearts of his fellows by his 
touching songs for contributions and aid. 



HOW SUCCESS IS WON. 217 



HOW SUCCESS IS WON. 

Solomon, the wisest of all earthly kings, has said : 
" Train up a child in the way he should go : and when 
he is old, he will not depart from it." That was true 
in his day, and is also true in ours. Nature has en- 
dowed us with bodies, minds, wills, and judgment 
capable of any undertaking. The philosopher who 
was captured by unlearned men said, " Give me time 
and I will extricate myself." He was depending on 
the power which the God of Nature had given him. 
So it must be with us, if we fulfill our mission in this 
world. A person must lay his plans, and then work 
according to them with a determined will. Some 
people, because they achieve great things, are pro- 
claimed geniuses and looked upon as wonderful men ; 
but it is only because they have made use of the powers 
which were in them. All men are created equal or 
nearly so, but some tower above their fellows, like 
the giant oak of the forest, on account of their great 
energy and perseverance. The lines of Longfellow 
well illustrate the fact : 

*' The heights by great men reached and kept 
Were not attained by sudden flight ; 
But they, while their companions slept. 
Were toiling upward in the night." 

By " success " we mean not only those who have 
heaps of gold and silver, bonds and stocks, but also 



218 INDIANA. 



those who have accomplished the things which they 
set out to attain. Some desire to become great schol- 
ars and teachers and to be benefactors to the people 
and nation; and if they attain to their aim, then 
they are a wonderful success, to be remembered for- 
ever. Some may desire to study for the ministry and 
spend their days for the cause of Christianity, like 
Luther, Calvin, and Huss, spending their time not 
all in pleasure, but sometimes being obliged to sing 
in the streets for bread to allay their hunger, and also 
being hunted by the crowned heads of Europe, that 
they might persecute them. But listen to the words 
of Luther when summoned to Worms for trial because 
his teaching was different from that of the clergy. 
His friends warned him not to go, but he exclaimed : 
" I would go, if there were as many devils in Worms 
as the tiles on the roof ! " And he did go. 

" Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just." 
These men were a success, for they accomplished 
what they set out to do, r.nd more, for their works still 
live. Their books are but phonographs of the dead, 
speaking to us of their trials, loves, joys, and deeds, 
which are as wholesome as the air that blows. 

W^e have examples of self-made men, and by all 
odds all are self-made or never made. Even the stu- 
dent at college must study or fail. Many go through 
college and pass out of sight. They are a disappoint- 
ment to themselves and their friends; they have 
not the will, push, nor energy to carry themselves on 



HOW SUCCESS IS WON. 219 

to victor3^ But look at Abraham Lincoln, how dif- 
ferently he obtained his education — at the fireside by 
the light of a candle after he had labored hard all 
day long. He saw beauty in Nature; his feelings 
were in sympathy with what he did, or he never could 
have accomplished what he did. He had tender feel- 
ings for others, and so became the emancipator of the 
slaves of our republic. His name still lives and will 
live to the end of time. He is an example — one of the 
most wonderful — of the self-made men of the world, 
but there are thousands of others. A few years ago 
the State of Xew York sent out West a car load of 
orphan boys to find homes wherever they could and to 
seek a living, and it so happened that two boys sat 
in the same seat — one a large, fine-featured fellow, 
and the other a small, undersized lad — and when they 
arrived at their destination, the farmers came in to 
pick out boys whom they thought most suitable for 
work. It so happened that the little fellow was left 
until the last, on account of his size; it seemed as 
though no one wanted him; but a sturdy Irishman 
came along and took pity on him and gave him an 
apple, telling him that, if no one wanted him, he 
might go home with him; and so he did; and to- 
day those two boys who sat in the same seat and were 
like the stone which the builders rejected are gov- 
ernors in two of our Western States. All of this 
was achieved by courage, pluck, and energy. The 
fortune of a father or mother is no royal road to sue- 



2£0 INDIANA. 



cess, for it may be wafted away at a single stroke of 
the pen; but courage like Leonidas had at the pass 
of Thermopylae, with his little army, may move the 
world. Energy is the only true road to success, but 
energy out of use is dead. Xapoleon Bonaparte gave 
the nations of Europe a great deal of trouble on ac- 
count of his indomitable will and courage. 

Nations, too, are like individuals according to their 
energy and push. It is easy to see the status of the 
United States, if we but look at the Spanish-Ameri- 
can War and our valiant soldiers knocking at the 
walls of China, which were like a parapet of earth to 
them. 

Some desire great wealth as a road to fame. It is 
not always the best kind of riches one can possess, 
but it is very necessary in civilized nations to have 
money to carry on the business of the nation ; and 
the more of it they have, the more prosperous it will 
be. Money promotes trade and civilization ; heathen 
lands have no use for it. Some trades and occupa- 
tions could not be carried on without it. Still, we 
have individuals who make a wrong use of it ; but it 
cannot be said that they were not a financial success. 
They cannot be rated, with such men as Johns Hop- 
kins, who endowed Johns Hopkins University, and 
Simon Yandez, who gave $50,000 to build a library 
at Crawfordsville, Ind. 

We have had great men like S. F. B. Morse, who in- 
vented telegraphy; but he lacked the means to carry 



HOW SUCCESS IS WON. 221 

it into effect, and had to ask the government to aid 
him, thereby receiving $30,000 to bring his invention 
before the people. Elias Howe was another who 
strove to gain achievement in poverty and distress; 
but success came at last^, as it will to the obedient, 
diligent, and persevering. Goodyear, Fulton, and 
Whitney were the laughingstock for the common 
herd, being branded as fools by them; but success 
crowned their efforts, and then they were the pride 
of the world, while the scoffers have passed from 
earth unknown; no lasting monument marks their 
departure in the minds of men. If one desires to 
succeed in a pecuniary sense, he will have to stop all 
unnecessary spending of money, and he can soon 
own a good home of his own; for just think when 
you spend a nickel for a cigar, it would buy a square 
yard of land worth fifty dollars per acre, and the pur- 
chase of a bottle of pop would buy another, and a 
glass of wine or ale would buy two square yards, and 
so by avoiding such expenditures for a few years you 
can be in good circumstances. 

Jay Gould was once a poor boy, and he spent his 
first fifty cents for a book to carry to school, and then 
we find him sitting in the street hungry for some- 
thing to eat ; but these were trials which taught him 
the value of money. Then we soon find him in a tan- 
nery, a bank, and then in one of the greatest stock 
exchanges of the world, having ascended from the 
bottom of the ladder to the top by his own effort. 



222 INDIANA. 



One must always be on the alert and watchful to take 
in the situation when it offers, or all is lost. A good 
epitaph for some who are always disappointed in their 
efforts would be: "A little too slow/' Men are a 
little like race horses, and the most observant, dili- 
gent, and frugal wins the race. 

Let us live as noble men, 

Working for a crown above ; 
Let us live as best we can, 

Full of virtue, peace, and love. 

Strive to gain a rich reward, 

And let the vain world know 
We are children of the Lord, 

Born in worlds below. 

Be up and doing with a will. 

With a heart both pure and great ; 

Climb the roughest rugged liill. 
Then success will be your fate. 

Never stop as laggards do. 

Looking sad, disconsolate ; 
To yourself be bold and true, 

You will be among the great. 

Monuments will speak your fame 

On the bold, emblazoned page ; 
Children long will lisp your name 

In a future coming age. 



HOW SUCCESS IS WON. 223 

Never falter at the top, 

Let your course go on and on ; 
Running rivers ne'er can stop, 

Lest their force is lost and gone. 

Nature's purest waters glide 

O'er their shining pehbly shore; 
Blooming flowers line each side. 

Lending sweetness as of yoro. 

Write your name so all may know, 

Passing onward as they may. 
That true worth is not a show. 

But a crown that shines by day. 

ENVOY. 

May we always love sweet poetry, friend^ 

As it pleases 3^ou and me ; 
May we meet some other time again 

This side of eternity. 



^■A LOADER TX CUBA, AXD POEMS/' 

is a book giving a beautiful romance of 
the Spanish-American War^ which appeals 
to the heart as ever love can. It also con- 
tains many beautiful poems, and is well 
illustrated. Sold by the author. Alamo, 
Ind. Price $1 00 

" TWENTY-FIVE YEAES IN JACKVILLE " 

(a romance in the days of the " Golden 
Circle") is a book treating of a ^romance 
in those primeval days, with signs and 
passwords of the " Golden Circle," and 
many things which were characteristic of 
those times, as the old muster days, the 
happenings about the illicit distilleries, 
and the old-fashioned barbecues. The book 
also contains numerous poems, and is il- 
lustrated. Sold by the author. Alamo, 
Ind. Price , $1 00 

"AUTUMN EOSES " 

is a book of 200 pages, containing a great 
many romance poems and poems of na- 
ture. It is neatly bound in cloth, and con- 
tains many beautiful illustrations, and also 
an autobiography of the author, giving in 
detail a sketch of his life from childhood. 
Sold by the author. Alamo, Ind. Price. .$1 00 



MAR 10 1909 



